I treat my clothing and accessories like I am the high school quarterback and they are the new transfer student. I see a shiny new thing, I put it on for a spell, then forget it, to leave it crying in the back of the cafeteria while all the other kids look pityingly on.
My drawers and closets are not temples of order dedicated to worshiping my belongings. I treat my stuff like shit. When I pack, I shove everything in and sit on the bag trying to zip up what would fit comfortably if it was folded. The one time I actually put clothes in a hotel drawer I left everything behind and waited on baited breath until it arrived via Fed-ex.
I often buy two of the same thing because I know how hard I am going to be on it.
I don’t love something until I no longer possess it and then I obsessively try to replace it.
I keep waiting for the day when I wake up a changed woman and face all my coat hangers the same way and put things back where I got them. The day I appreciate the pieces I have and not the ones I think I still need. And maybe that day will come and I will lovingly pack my preciousesss and not jumble them carelessly all together. Maybe I will want less and take care of more.
Or maybe I just buy cheap shit and have a short attention span.
It really is a wonder I got married.