Today, I am going to go into my bedroom, close the door, turn on some loud music and stay at it until I have cleaned my closet. And by closet, I mean every shelf, every drawer, every bag, every nook, every cranny. And by cleaned, I mean ruthlessly.
We've been in this condo almost three years, and so far, all I've done in the way of closet management has been to shift things around to make room for more stuff.
What happened to the rule: If you bring something in, you send something out!? It's a good rule, it's one I adopted with full understanding and little trepidation. It's one I've found ways to cheat on, when it comes to personal adornment.
So, any minute now, clear-eyed and determined, fortified by coffee and good music, I'm in there. I don't know why, but I keep picturing Henry VIII, armoured and enthusiastic, his horse pawing the ground, waiting for his turn at the lists. Oh yeah, I do know why---when I picture Henry VIII, I always see Jonathan Rhys-Myers, and who wouldn't rather think of him than some churlish Dickensian cleaner with a mobcap and a
And just to you know, I'm aware that it was a big stretch to get to Jonathan R-M this morning, but that's the kind of person I am.
|please forgive me---I have no rights to this picture.|