I’m trying really hard to kind of Marie Kondo my closet. Kind of. A little.

There are probably forty shirts in there, and I know I only wear around twenty of them regularly, and then there are another few that are for dressy things, and then one or two that I love but they only fit me during rare periods of shrinkification. So I feel like the other ten or so shirts should probably go.

And then I have a day where I lose my mind and decide to wear one of the shirts I never wear.

It’s bad. Really, really bad. But I do it anyway.

And then I stand in there and think, “I should just get rid of this shirtlike nightmare, once and for all.” But I hesitate because then what if I don’t have enough shirts and I go through a ten week phase of being unable to do laundry and I develop horrendous armpit sweat that renders all of my other shirts unwearable so it’s either keep those bad shirts that looked good that one time in Old Navy under the special lighting that doesn’t let you see bra bulges, see-through spots, or the fact that when you sit down, the entire shirt will suddenly become one size smaller, but only in the arms, so you’re reduced to either sitting in your chair but incapable of arm motion, or standing for the entire day. (Old Navy, shame on you and your dressing room lighting that makes me buy those shirts. It’s all your fault.)

It’s the same fear that makes me pack ten pairs of underwear for a two day trip, because I may suddenly start peeing my pants all day long. Except with shirts.

At any rate, that’s where I’m at with that. I got rid of two shirts yesterday that I’ve had for about ten years, and are now so thin that I can completely see everything through them, but I pretend that it’s just me, because they’re comfortable and I like the colors. But no more. They are in my donation pile. Along with my pink pony dress which I love and wore about fifty times before getting ink on it and realizing that it does, indeed, make me look pregnant.

Oh, Marie Kondo, your process makes me even more neurotic. Waiting for the sparky joy part. Not there yet.

Well, we officially have no kitchen. It’s gone. My husband tore all of the cabinets out this weekend, and our new ones are being made, so there it is.

It’s not so bad right now, though, because he also put up some work tables and a little utility sink, and our refrigerator is still there so we’re not living out of coolers. Which is good, because we have about a month to go.

Why do we do this? Oh yeah, this kitchen was pretty gross.

I mean, it was clean and all, but there were so many mystery stains on the insides of the cupboards that I had just resigned myself to accepting (I decided they were iced tea....it seemed to be a good color match, even though the spray patterns would definitely point toward something carbonated). And the counter had huge corner seams which would not stay together anymore, no matter how much my husband shimmed them up, so yep. It’s time.

It’s weird to think that three years ago, we had just finished our new kitchen in the old house, and now we’re doing it again. This one is easier, though, because we aren’t doing the entire house. There’s no floor fixing or anything.

Still, though. Only three years and we’re doing this again. What is wrong with us?

Why do I bother asking? I totally know....we are THOSE people. The ones who need a project and like to have something to fix, even when it means no free weekends,  no sleeping in, and no extra money for vacations, etc., because it always goes into the house. Ha ha ha we are nuts.

At any rate, it’s on now. The house is a dusty mess, there’s kitchen stuff everywhere, and we’re just accepting the chaos. Or, he’s accepting it, and I’m trying to figure out ways to clean around it so my brain doesn’t explode because dust makes me lose my mind.

And that’s what’s happening in our neck of the woods. So there you go!