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And now the monster has been tamed. He has only wooden skirt hangers to munch on--all the ugly wire ones are gone.
He can munch on fabric if he can get the labeled drawers open. He isn't interested in the tissue paper and bags now that they're consolidated all into one polka dotted bag. The monster will wait for me to use my paints, drawing pads, and canvases again, but if it doesn't happen by this time next year, that menu option will be history.
I can breathe now. The closet doesn't scare me. Nothing will avalanche on me when I open the doors. I can see what I have and it's not in there unless I want it. 95 percent of the rest has been dealt with. Feels good. My monster feels deprived, but so what? He feasted long enough on my indecision.