MOTHER AND THOSE SENSITIVE TO CLOTHES WITH TEARS: AVERT YOUR EYES!
I spent many years with a deep affinity for clothes with holes in them. Homeless chic? Apathetic couture, like I know my shirt has holes in it by I’m too busy writing poems and planting heirloom tomatoes and thinking deeply to do anything about it. I’ve had this sweater hoodie thing since JUNIOR YEAR OF HIGH SCHOOL. It is basically at this point made of the cheap kind of paper towels that won’t hold the glass of water or bowling ball or heavy thing when wet. It is barely hanging on. My head comes out the back of it. Wind whips through it. And yet, I am oddly proud of it: for having it for so long, for still liking it, as if something in my is solid and does not change. There’s also the fact that I bought it for myself off the sale rack at Banana Republic with cash money I made blowing up balloons at Party City and it was the first time I bought myself a thing at Banana Republic with money I earned and it is a good reminder that at point in time, that was an Accomplishment.