How I became a minimalist

I managed to make Father's Day pretty miserable for John.  I was in a mood.  Ladies, you know what I am talking about.  I was PISSED OFF about EVERYTHING - neighbors having loud parties (complete with loud music and drunk idiots), my mother's refusal to call me back (apparently, she plans on avoiding me for the rest of my life), John's desire to spend half of Father's Day at his friend's house (I thought he might want to spend time with his kids.   I was wrong), and blah blah blah.  It was nothing really, but combined, these small problems turned me into a crazy woman.

After spending half of the day feeling like I could rip someone's head off, I decided to put my anger and frustration to good use.  I cleaned out my closet.  I had a million articles of clothing stuffed into that small space.  A MILLION.  I had tons of fancy shirts, slacks, and skirts from my pre-baby days.  I haven't put on any of those clothes in over 6 years.  I tossed 90% of them out.  My days are spent wearing jeans and tee shirts, so my closet should probably reflect that.

I don't know how I feel about this huge purge of clothing.  On one hand, it feels good to get rid of all the clutter.  On the other hand, it kind of feels like I just gave away my old identity.  But regardless of my identity crisis, my closet is clean and organized. 

My minivan loaded up with half of my worldly belongings...