I had the thought, “I can start changing my clothes again!” and was quite happy about the idea until morning came around and I found myself grumbling, “I have to start changing my clothes again.”

Once upon a time, in my younger days of innocence and privilege, I changed outfits every day without thinking about it. That’s just what people did, and so that’s what I did. Every night I pulled on my pyjamas, and every morning I picked out a new outfit. But after I found myself unexpectedly homeless, that changed.

When every day is filled with the worries of how you’re going to eat and where you’re going to sleep (not to mention where you can pee), changing shirts becomes a major pain in the ass. Fuck the lack of privacy — it doesn’t matter when you’re driving around at midnight trying to find a spot that won’t be noticed by anyone (particularly the police), so you can sleep in an uncomfortable position for a few hours before you feel compelled to move on again. In those circumstances, laundry is pushed back to a once-a-month chore that you only bother with because smelling bad will hurt the pitifully small chance you have of getting a job. It also gets you thrown out of places.

Pretty much, if you’re changing your clothes every day, it means that you have the time and energy to think about something as trivial as, “What should I wear today,” you’re living a life of luxury.

So, I’m having a hard time transitioning from rough’n’tumble to housed. Kinda funny, really, since I used to daydream about being able to wear different clothes again. I *want* to pick out a new outfit every single morning, but at the same time it feels so trivial compared to other things — like eating. Plus, the idea that laundry is no longer requires a handful of quarters hasn’t quite sunk in for me yet.