I’d like to apologize for the title of this post in advance. I couldn’t think of a better alternative. Did some of you think this would be a long rambling diatribe into my childhood?
I’ve been doing my usual end of year closet clean out, and I came across a bag I haven’t used for awhile – this black Bolide.
For some reason, whenever I’ve opened my closet this year, this poor guy has just been looking at me, quite forlorn. For some reason I just haven’t reached for it…I guess I don’t find it fun anymore, something that really excites me or that brings joy (do I hear Marie Kondo calling)? It just felt like such a chore to use it….something purely emotional, I just didn’t want to! I guess it just seemed too big and dark and stiff and serious. So I had all but made up my mind to go ahead and send it into one of the consignment shops, and had taken it out to package it up, when I decided to give it once last go. Continue Reading