Nothing says “Confronting your shopping demons” like destashing your LuLaRoe leggings collection on Poshmark. (yes, another poshmark post!)
Last month I set a goal for myself – I decided to set July 24th as the deadline since on July 25th I’m going to have to put my closet on vacation until August 2nd. (I HATE putting my closet on vacation, while I’m very good at going on vacation I’m not great at BEING on vacation- if that makes sense.)
I’m $60 away from my goal. I would be closer but I bought a couple of things for the girls. I’m not shopping for myself but a $6 Ann Taylor Loft Dress in the Texas Tech school colors isn’t something I can pass up while we’re starting to get the youngest packed. Lots and lots of red & black.
But I mean, I’m going to MAKE that goal, and I’ve set my next one to start immediately.
I rented a house in Florida again for January & Poshmark is going to pay for it.
Something about growing up Catholic makes me feel like I still have to confess everything. I’m not sure if I want penance or if I want the community of feeling like I’m not alone in whatever stupid shit I’ve done. Poshmark and this blog are both very performative methods of confession.
So thirty seconds of honesty – I’m in the process of listing 20-25 pairs of leggings in my Posh Closet. I’m not doing the math because I very rarely paid full price but still. HOLY CRAP ERIN. I’m keeping 7 pairs.
I keep writing posts and then not posting them. I’m not sure if it is anxiety or that I’m just boring the shit out of myself halfway through – but I do know I miss this – so I’m going to make regular writing a thing that I just do.
I want to write a book. or three, really. I’ve got ideas for 3 and I’ve started on 1. I’m very good at starting things, not so great at finishing and even WORSE at promoting things that I have finished.
so there’s that.
and yes, one is definitely a feminist manifesto for children about a flamingo, duh.
like I said before, my youngest child is headed to TTU in Lubbock next month. NEXT MONTH. no wonder it feels as if my meds aren’t working. that is FAR. my oldest feels far away and she’s at UVM and I can drive there in under 4 hours. what the hell am I going to do?
My husband (who I just remembered asked once years ago to be called Blevvins if I ever blog about him) and I haven’t been on our own since we were 23. I turned 43 in May.
it’ll be fun. but I’m going to need a coping mechanism that isn’t buying another 25 pairs of leggings or going to Disney. thaaaat feels weird to say. I’ll still be going to Disney, but the amount of Disney that I feel like I’ll need is incompatible with the fact that I’m still not making an income.
going on 6 months now.
hence the books.
I can’t be the only nerd to google “how many pages are in a children’s picture book?” “how many words?”
that’s where I am now.
32 pages, 28 pages for text.