All of the sudden I have nervous feeling in my gut about the triathlon. Perhaps it is because I read a message board today and it totally freaked me out. I don't really have the proper bike for a triathlon, I've not practiced my transitions, oh my god, I'm going to die- aren't I?

Not helping the nervous feeling is the fact that I ate an entire container of Stouffer's Welsh Rarebit for lunch. It seemed like a delicious idea at the time, but instead I'm now feeling overly cheesified and bloated, which means it will be a long, long, long time before I do that again. Seriously, such a bad idea.

Keds, who the hell knew I owned Keds. Oh, I know Mischa Barton tried to make them cool and they are a classic but in what right mind did I think I would really become a Keds wearer? But none the less there they are in my closet, only having been worn a couple of time and those time were most certainly not in the last 3+ years I've lived in my current place. So tonight, they go to the goodwill-esque store.

There are so many things I'm pulling out of the world's smallest closet and from the storage bins under my bed that I just can't explain. Why did I hang onto that super faded black, ribbed, 3/4 sleeve, v-necked Old Navy shirt for 4+ years? I've not worn it in 2, yet it sat there as if I would someday pull it out and say "YOU! I've been looking for my super faded black, ribbed, 3/4 sleeve, v-necked Old Navy shirt!"

So what is with all the cleaning? I'm moving starting next week, on Friday I take possession of my lovely little apartment (ALL TO MYSELF) and there is just so much shit that is not going to make the transition. I'm paring down, I want to live clean and simple- not that I currently am in the throws of a cluttered existence but even less cluttery and stuff filled.

In college one of my roommates had a serious motherfucking problem with clutter. It was like she would walk into a room and it would explode with random, useless crap. It covered every surface that she possessed. She and I exchanged words on more than one occasion when she would eye my clutter free desk or dresser. And really, does a grown woman need a magic wand her mother bought for her last week? Or the ugly, little mutton faced crone doll with bells and keys and other assorted glittery shit sewn onto it's frock?

I just can't live with stuff, I start to feel claustrophobic. The reality is that my new apartment is going to have the semi-ugly patina of a first real apartment alone, even though most people have that "look" right after college I'm attempting it at 27. It is going to be the awesomist.

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