The last thing I should be worried about is the complete lack of anything interesting in my closet.
I have many other things I should spend my time worrying about. I have no shortage of minor and mid-level annoyances that could occupy my time.
But no, I choose to fret about my clothes.
I hate all my clothes. I have at least six pairs of black pants and not one pair looks appealing to me. I don’t know off-hand how many jeans I own.
I own far to many tops with sparkles or strange glittery embellishments that I never wear (but were drawn to inexplicably in the store).
But nothing I own seems suitable for work tomorrow.