It's so hard to say good-bye...

...to your stuff.

I took a giant load of c-r-a-p to the Goodwill a while back and am just now getting around to writing about my experience. Because that's what it was. An experience.

 

See, here in Oregon, we have something called GOOD.WILL. It is not the D.I. aka, Deseret Industries, like you all have there in Utah. I seriously love the D.I. It's a great place where you can send your clothes to live on in someone else's closet. For example, one day you'll be walking down the streets in Hollywood and you'll see a famous person wearing that one really cute sweater that you just didn't have room for and go, "Hey! Justin Timberlake! That used to be my sweater! Nice." And he'll go, "NO WAY! I saw this for 5 bucks at the D.I. in Sandy, Utah and it just spoke to me and I knew I had to have it." And you'll be all, "No way!" And he'll be all, "Way!" And you'll go, "You look really good in pink." And then you'll shake hands, become friends on Facebook and walk away.

 

But here at the GOOD.WILL., things are a little different. First of all, when you go to drop off your stuff, you have to drive around the back. On a dirt driveway. Like it's some sort of secret that they city is ashamed of keeping. The back alley is where they'll send you to "donate" your valuables, and they won't put up the cash to pave the dang driveway.

 

Now let me back up a bit.

You've gone through your whole house, de-cluttered, de-junked, de-everything-ed and you've stuck your once-loved items in big black garbage bags and placed them ever so lovingly and carefully in your shed out back where they will wait patiently for you to sell them at a garage sale because you know that everyone values your stuff just as much as you do and they are willing to pay any price to own what you have once called yours.

 

The big day comes.

The signs are put out, the crowds drive up...and they drive away.

Apparently, they didn't have enough cash to buy your old car seat, crock pot and faded woolly socks.

So the next step is to donate them all.

Fast forward to the drop-off.

You pull in to the gravel driveway.

Back your vehicle up to the unloading dock-- all with a smile on your face, mind you because you're de-cluttering-- and you begin handing over those big, black bags.

One by one they transfer hands.

And because the bags are black, you've forgotten what's in them, thus they aren't so hard to get rid of.

But then you come upon a bag that is clear.

Clear because you had to "borrow" a garbage bag from someone who has clear garbage bags and suddenly you see just exactly what you are parting with.

And right then, right there, at that precise moment, you decide that you absolutely cannot live without those VHS Tae Bo tapes. And those Shorty McShort Shorts you haven't worn since high school, never mind that you're pushing 35 years old. How can you let those purses go that you haven't used in 15 years? Remember how cute your oldest child looked wearing that Little Boy Blue costume for Halloween when he was a baby? Oh! And then there's...  

...and it goes on and on and on and you find yourself not letting go of the bag and the GOOD.WILL. employee is looking at you with this weird look and slightly tugging on the clear plastic garbage bag and saying under his breath, "Dude. Seriously. Just let it go." And then you hold on tighter and then it becomes an all out tug-of-war.

Who knows when this madness will end? But it does end. Round about the time you start realizing that if you win this game of tug-of-war, your husband just might leave you. He hated Billy Blanks with a passion and if you bring those Tae Bo tapes back home, he's liable to go loco.

So you let go - gently, so as not to make the GOOD. WILL. guy falter backwards -  and you say it.

You say Good-bye.

 Adios.

 Ciao.

Via con Dios.

You get in your car, pull away from the building and go on your way, crying silent tears for the precious cargo you have just given up.

 

What's that? Cant' relate? Hmmm, well then I'd say you have no heart.

 

Speaking of saying good-bye...I don't want to hear one remark about how I signed off Facebook and then came back.

Not. One. Word.