I never pretended not to be a flake

Last winter I mentioned in a post that we suffer a bit from the Angel Numbers here at The Manor. While the process is not quite a wacky as the Bible Dip efforts from Running With Scissors, it is still pretty nutty. But the thing is I have become rather attached to these damn numbers, a certain set in particular. I am called by the numbers 2 and 3. It doesn’t seem to matter what combination they are in: 1:23, 4:23, 12:23; it seems every time I look at the clock it is 23 after the hour. Not only that, it is often 23 degrees out when I take the kids to school in the morning. The microwave timer seems to stop at 23 seconds. The other day I found an “Inspected by #23″ sticker in a pair of Loren’s new jeans. This morning was the final straw when Loren looked at the clock on the way to school and said, “Look, Heather. It’s 7:23 and it’s 23 degrees out. What’s that all about?” He knows how these damn numbers haunt me and thought he would get an early morning jab in while he could.
Well, here is what it’s all about, according to the friggin’ Ascended Masters of the Angel Number Hooey: I have to let go of anything that has been dragging me down so that I can move on with things. So today as my mom and I were cleaning out the huge old sheep shed that doubles as a storage area and a three bay area to park the cars, I decided to let go of baggage. I emptied out about five large storage bins that held all of my clothing from the past 14 years. All my work clothes from the loan hostess days, gone. My collection of cardigans. Gone. All my button down shirts. Gone. Even my sassy, leather pants I bought after the divorce. Gone. Because here’s the thing, those button downs? My boobs are so big that if I can actually get them buttoned they balloon over my middle like a maternity blouse. No thank you. And I have been actively starting over in all areas of my life. So why not let go of the old wardrobe and start fresh. Of course this now means that when I look woefully at my collection of drawstring yoga pants and grey T-shirts I can’t pretend I have an entire wardrobe in storage. Because I don’t anymore. Even though it was all too small it gave me some sense of comfort to believe I didn’t really have to live in my pajamas.
It was hard to let go of some of the clothes. I love cardigans and I had a fabulous collection of woolen, plaid mini skirts. But that era is gone. I am hoping the Angel Numbers will be satisfied with my offering of clothing to them. What more could they want? I have now given them my carbs, my beloved clothing, my mood swings and much of my anger. If they are wanting my kids I might have to do a Bible Dip to see if I am down with that.