more dreams, less sleep, puffy eyes.
though spouse & i already each purged our own wardrobes, i feel that i wasn't honest with mine. crap (read: my clothes) piles transform into mountains. i walk by them & hate myself a little more for spending so much energy over something so (at this juncture) joyless.
should i impose an arbitrary rule? begin a clothing tyranny? --only black remains?
i suppose my patience is probably the culprit for my current discomfort: two mountains are purposeful & will soon disappear, one is cyclical, rising & falling with time between laundering.
fuck: my mind is nowhere near it should be for work.