By my most recent calculation, I’ve been dealing with Significant Events since January ’24. Each one of the Events has left a lasting mark on me.

I earned last week’s breakdown, thank you very much.

It wasn’t all bad (just like 98% horrible), in that it seems to have cleared up a small bit of the rubble in there. I’ve been really focused on just .. doing things, instead of stalling and insisting on a detailed written action plan first. In the week since my structural collapse, I completed a bunch of really annoying errands that had been on my list for months. I’m in the midst of a benefits spending spree, booking appointments to get my front teeth fixed + an eye exam + medication refills + therapy + haircut (that one is probably out of pocket). I’m having a garage sale (in 4 days, you should come). I’m not doing any of these things particularly well and there’s still the overhanging spectre of looking for work I haven’t quite dealt with yet, but it’s a start.

Anyway. I’m finally holding a garage closet sale and selling the very last of my favourite plus sized clothing. I can’t replace any of this stuff, as it’s all from vendors who’ve gone out of business and/or just plain old styles that haven’t been reproduced, and can’t be tailored for a handful of reasons. The dresses that have literally travelled the world with me, and show up in my photos from Tokyo and Montreal and New York and everywhere in between. My very, very favourite dresses, the ones that made me feel sexy and powerful or coy and mysterious or brazen and bold or cute and non-threatening and sometimes all of those things all at once. The rest of my wardrobe is styled around those dresses; the ones that made me feel like the very best version of me.

Losing this aspect of myself is just another fun unexpected disassociation exercise I’ve been experiencing for the last year. Turns out losing enough weight to change your face, cutting off your hair, and wearing weird new clothes all at once is kinda fucking traumatic and I’m not coping very well. Toss in the loss of my job that I very much identified with (the work, not the company – fuck those guys), and well, here we are.

SO. Since these clothes don’t work for me any longer, I’m having a closet sale. The entire downstairs room is full of racks of clothes and shoes and bags. I’ve made a complicated inventory system, labels of varying degrees of fanciness, and I’m working on signage. If you’re in the neighbourhood, come on by. There’ll be snacks!

I promise to leave all my trauma at home.