Boom, boom, boom, boom.

"All women become like their mothers.

That is their tragedy. No man does. That's his."

-Oscar Wilde

I've begun an immense undertaking,
one that may later be known as

The Great Reorganization of '11.

Several things occurred at once which brought on this reorganization.

1. I have a new roommate moving in.


2. I can't figure out where half my stuff is. I mean, I know it's here. It's just under the other half of my stuff. But when I'd actually like to have whatever it is in my hand and use it? Then I have no idea where to look. Most recently lost? My scissors.


3. I have time. (That wonderful thing that goes to waste if you don't use it RIGHT NOW. Haha, yeah. That's always been my motto.)


4. I had an epiphany. To be fair, this is something my mother's been trying to teach me since I was born. I don't know if it's never really mattered to me, or if it just now sunk in, but here it is: If everything has a place where it belongs, then it's really easy to clean up and you never have to wonder where your hackletujiklethingy is when you need it. Actually, in the words of my mother it goes like this; "You can just go boom, boom, boom, boom, and everything is put away." Very Mary Poppins-esque, and apparently actually a really good idea.


4(a). There is the possibility (reality??) that I'm getting older. It's manifesting itself in unusual ways. For instance, you know you're getting older when you're so excited about your new vacuum cleaner that you really really want to update your facebook status with gushes about how IT ACTUALLY SUCKS, but you know no one else cares AT ALL.


So, what does this mean?


It means I'm getting rid of a lot of clothes that I never wear. Rule of thumb: if it's been three years and I still haven't altered that skirt that isn't really my style anyway, it can probably go. Additionally, if it's from eighth grade and I've worn it three times since then, it goes.


It means some new shelves.

It means my art supplies are getting labelled and put ALL in one place.

It means I'm becoming my mother. Those who know her intimately know what I mean. I've classified my shoes. I'm trying to decide if I should institute my own version of binomial nomenclature in my closet, but then they might start reproducing and there'd be no more room.

The beginning of my shoe phylum. And the cat getting pretty excited about the change.

Ah, yes, all is going well. Just as long as The Great Reorganization of '11

doesn't lead to The Great Shoe Boom of '12....