Rootless

I spent the weekend visiting my mother in Spring Lake, MI. She requested/guilt-tripped me to help her organize her closet. Because the absolute first thing I want to do after weeks of living out of suitcases and sleeping in random places is go to mom's boyfriends home (another random place) and help her sort through her massive pile of clothes. So much better than the Hamptons, yes? But - she basically begged me to come. So I went. Begrudgingly.

Turns out I come by my clotheshorse proclivities honestly. Mom has more than DOUBLE my wardrobe (and mine is bordering on the insane). The good thing about this was, when creating an outfit I could grab just the exact shade of green I needed from her massive collection. We took photos of each outfit so she can recreate them later. I have to say, that part was fun, even if we did work well into the night.

But on my way back to NYC, I had a complete and total meltdown. Sobbing-in-a-public-restroom style. I don't know why. I've cried a few times this weekend. I think I just feel rootless. I've spent the past few weeks camped out in my brother's guest room in Brooklyn Heights surrounded by piles of clothes. Sometimes his girlfriend's family comes to visit and I'm relegated to the couch for a night or two. I move into my new place tonight, but it's a soft move as most of my stuff is still in my West Village apartment. That means, no dishes, no AC unit, no bedframe. Yay.

Jason's business is running seamlessly and I'm so proud of him, but I feel like I really need a hug these days. Kinda hard to do over Skype.

I've noticed instead of hugs, I'm racking up clothes. Honestly, I cannot stop shopping. I leave the office every day on some sartorial excursion. Next obsession? Lace shorts. Guess they call it retail therapy for a reason.

*scorpio*