fFE ana Styie

Stuck in Purge-atory: The inaugural week

By Laurel Borrowman, Life & Style Editor

I have way too much stuff. You probably do too. Stuck in Purge-atory is a weekly chronicle of my and my roommate's quest to get rid of extraneous excess in our lives by giving away or throwing out one thing everyday until the end of time.

in Vancouver on West Broadway

with my best friend Emily. I’ve never had so much autonomy, such an awesome friend and house mate, so much space, and so much stuff I don’t need.

I have moved six times in the last three years, and it seems like the only time I realize how much crap I have is when I’m packing boxes and totes of things I haven’t seen in months, and then proceeding to lift and transport said boxes and totes, straining my back alongside a small group of not-so-easily persuaded friends. Every time I move, I always tell myself, “Self, this is the one! Shrink that ‘STAY’ pile! Make that ‘GO’ pile! Get rid of that shit you don’t need!”

Inevitably, every time I start packing, I start skipping down memory lane. It’s so textbook. I’ll open up a desk drawer and stumble across a few photos of an ex-boyfriend, receipts from a night out with friends, a notebook I made a few entries in eons ago, some CDs that I haven’t listened to in ages, and so on. Pretty soon, I’m no longer packing, but bobbing my head to Siamese Dream reading about an angst-ridden day five summers ago, and pondering what Mr. Ex might be up to at the moment. I'll snap out of it just in time to realize I haven’t packed anything, and have to give my keys up in a few hours.

I throw everything into the boxes and totes, make a sheepish attempt at planning for unpacking by scrawling “MISC” with a Jiffy marker across a few boxes that might have some disposables, and move it all cumbersomely into the new place of residence.

Fast forward to April 2011, Move Number Six. It was kind of a Move- Lite because I still live in the same building, but exactly one floor above where Emily and I first moved in February 2010. In retrospect, this move was integral in underscoring the need for getting rid of stuff for a few reasons. First, Emily wasn’t there to help. She was on the other side of the world travelling, and had subletted her room for the four-month period. Figuring she would agree with the move if she had been in the country (it’s definitely a more awesome apartment) and figuring

[= in a two-bedroom apartment

it would be a hilarious practical joke

to play (“Surprise! We moved!”), I decided not to ask her, told the subletter we’d be moving in a few weeks, and stormed forth.

Moving day was terrible. Turns out, subletters aren’t really concerned with moving stuff that isn’t theirs (rightfully so). Also, it turns out that even when the distance between old place and new place is a mere 20 stairs plus 20 metres, moving an entire apartment is a lot of work. Especially when you are moving stuff you have and don’t need along with your dear friend’s stuff that she has and doesn’t need.

I became more aware than ever before that I needed to purge. Badly.

But, as it happens, I am also really good at procrastinating. Six months have passed since Move Number Six. Emily is back (and was both surprised AND stoked, by the way), we’re both settled, and winter is nigh. It is the perfect time to commence operation Stuck in Purge-atory.

The premise is simply this: everyday, we each get rid of one thing. We don’t get overwhelmed by having to clean out an entire cupboard or closet, we don’t waste hours sorting through crap, and we don’t hum and haw about whether or not we need or want the thing anymore.

We started last Thursday, and use

sweatshirt. Oversized. Acquired from back alley sale on Main Street last summer. Has buffaloes on it. Is awesome, but too big. Gave to other best friend Doug. Extra points for styling friend.

Also, grey scoop-neck cap- sleeve tank top borrowed by Emily for Saturday night outing. Fit her like a dream. Many “upper body” compliments. Agree she should have it.

on the side, and set it by the BFI bin in

“I throw everything into the boxes and totes, make a sheepish attempt at planning for unpacking by scrawling “MISC” with a Jiffy marker across a few boxes that might have some disposables, and

move it all cumbersomely into the new place of residence.”

the high-traffic nature of our back alley as our storefront when needed. I give you week one:

Friday

Me: Mix-patterned, oddly-cut tankish- topish thing from Plenty, acquired three years ago on shopping trip with ex-boyfriend. Initial draw? The store. The newness (I shop primarily in thrift stores and Em’s closet). Times worn? Twice. And twice too many. One of those, “Oh, it’s so cuuute!” pieces that rot in the closet.

Emily: Flappy drawstring linen pants. In theory, perfect for travelling. Never worn by actual travellers. The pants you think you need in India that end up rotting in the bottom of your backpack.

Items were set across alley on concrete ledge on Friday. Endured rain. Questioned whether or not discards were even alley worthy. Gone on Wednesday. Success!

Saturday Me: Electric-blue pullover hooded

More extra friend points.

I gave away two things, so we agree Emily’s off the hook for the day. Ignore fact that technically nothing was purged.

Sunday

Admittedly, a bit of a writeoff. It was a great Saturday night. Brain power reserved for light homework, caffeine, and rehydrating. Purge-atory fail.

Monday Totally redeem ourselves and discard complete outfit.

Me: Knee-length brown shorts with small-ish grease stain; look appropriate for a safari.

Emily: Black belt with silver loop holes that remind me of grade 9, a pair of black Costco bulk-pack underwear, a bra, and a terribly tailored shirt she bartered for in Mumbai, India. Shirt is fine, but best quality is way in which the pride of winning the barter fits so well.

We put everything in a plastic bag,

the alley. Gone in 60 seconds.

Tuesday Purge-atory fail. We just did so well on Monday.

Wednesday

Me: Two blender-mutilated rubber spatulas. You’d think that after making hummus dozens of times, I’d learn

that when the blender is on, and I try

to scrape the delicious paste off the bottom to keep it mixing, I’d remember that if the spatula touches those blades it’s going to chop them up. Hence the mutilated spatulas.

No point in trekking down the stairs to the back alley. Junked. Garbage. Done.

Emily: Taking the day off. Still riding high from Monday.

Thursday

Me: Purge-atory fail. Mind you, I did throw out two spatulas yesterday. Emily: One plaid blazer (see photo). Nice fit, kind of cute, but the type of piece you regret wearing after leaving the house. Bonus points for passing it off to our lovely downstairs neighbour, Ashley.

Stay tuned. Who knows what we’ll get rid of next week.