Voices from the Deep, or Why I Need to Clear Some Mental Space

At the risk of losing you, Dear Reader, I offer two conversations I had with myself yesterday. The far greater peril is revealing once and forever that I am (as I am so often and so lovingly called) bat-shit crazy.

Both conversations took place inside my closet and inside my head. Neither lasted longer than 10 seconds. I don’t think I’m exaggerating the discourse too much. In fact, I have edited it for brevity AND I have redacted all the off-topic thoughts that danced through my mind-grapes in the meantime. So it goes, here in my little brain.


I feel like wearing something cozy. Not that black windbreaker-y thing, but like it. It’s cute and almost right, but it’s not really soft on my arms. So, like that, but not that. I really want something soft. Oh, no. Oh, no. I might not have such a thing. I might not have this exact jacket that is sort of like the winderbreaker-y thing but that is also soft. And I won’t be able to get one, because I can’t buy new clothes. [panic rises] I wonder if I can create a loophole for myself concerning outerwear. Sure I can.  I can do anything. This is just a silly little experiment, not a law. Wait. Wait. I do have that black sweater (very soft on the arms, very cozy) that fits a lot like the windbreaker-y thing. Oh, good. That will work. Okay, yes. But I wore it yesterday. Right. [deep breath] And that is okay. I can wear it again. Even with the same scarf I wore yesterday. It’s okay. Oh my God. I am going to IKEA. For the love of all things holy. Just go. Nobody but nobody is looking at me at the IKEA. Just GO.

And so I did.

CONVO #2, 11:32 PM:

What shall I wear tomorrow? Let’s see, boys back at school, help a friend, see my aunt, unload kiln . . .

No, wait. Don’t think about it. You don’t have to think about it.

But the laundry. What if everything I need isn’t clean? What if I can’t find a sock at the last minute? That might make me late. I’d better just put something together now to be sure. Hmm . . . what’s on the agenda for tomorrow, again?

There. Look. Three skorts, clean and ready. One of which you will wear tomorrow. Go to bed.

But the top . . . something presentable but not too fussy . .  . .

There. Look. A closet full of presentable-but-not-too-fussy tops. You do not have to worry about it. You are practicing not worrying about it. Go to bed.

And so I did.