Mourning Clothes

I know it sounds trivial but I am mourning my clothes.  The weather has  snapped and I need heavier clothes.  The way my house is structured there is only one real closet.  We do have armoires upstairs, keyword – upstairs.  I have enormous problems going up and downstairs without having anything in my hands.  I used to work in the garment industry and from time to time in retail sales.  I know how to carry tons of clothing over my arm.  I used to do it without even thinking about it. Now, I have problems hanging one suit in the closet.  Plus, I am dependent on T to get up and down the stairs and carry things.

So, this morning we go up and I want to bring my winter things down.  I’ve already brought down most of the casual stuff – the sweaters, the cords.  Today is for the business and dress stuff.  Each season change, it’s like running into old friends.  This year,  there are new and different options.   I weigh less so fit into different things.  And since I constantly have to use a cane instead of making the spectral leg visible, I have more options.

I bought some beautiful suits and pieces when I returned to work last year.

I start making a pile for Tom to take downstairs.  “Where are you going to wear all this stuff, really.”  Rub it in.  I worked from mid-February last year.  And the winter before that, I interviewed heavily.

We brought the clothes downstairs.  I don’t want to give them up.  I have always had a definitive sense of style.  I express myself through my clothes.  I do not want to live in sweatpants and jeans.  It’s not who I am.  I miss my dresses! Forget the party stuff.  I left all that black velvet upstairs.  I haven’t been to a party in years.  I was down to one holiday luncheon or dinner a year.  It’s hard for me to navigate.  NYC is out of the question.

People barely dress any more.  It is depressing to see all the faded jeans worn by faded people.  Where’s the sense of excitement?  Where’s uniqueness.  Let me date myself further by saying I sound like Hermione Gingold in both Gigi and A Little Night Music.

 

I have more pants than ever.  I was brought up in a household where ladies don’t wear trousers.  However, I need them for interviews  so I don’t terrify potential employers completely.

Today, I am realizing who am I kidding?  I have had 1 in-person interview since July.

I want to get up most mornings and wear my clothes. I want to preen like a peacock.

This condition is trying to destroy my soul.  It’s tried to take so much from me.  I have to draw a line in the sand, somehow.

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