perils with writing and whatnot
I like things organized. You might even say that I’m obsessed with it. I want everything in its proper place, neat and tidy.
The obsession has its reasons, although it makes me quite boring, I’m sure. If you look back at any of my posts about my disability, you’re likely to read something about short-term memory loss. Being fanatical about organization, in reality, helps me with this annoying issue that refuses to leave me alone. If everything is where it should be so that I can find it with ease, there isn’t any short-term-memory loss issues to deal with, at least not any that are important. If I need to be sure I paid a bill and the checkbook is where it should be — in the top drawer of my desk — I can just go to the drawer and look. It’s so incredibly simple.
This organization fixation includes keeping things clean. After all, how can you have thing neat and tidy if they’re not clean? Despite have three indoor cats, I love a vacuumed carpet. Sure, some may say if I had hardwood instead, that’s easier. Personally, I doubt it. How much difference is there between a Swiffer and a vacuum when it come to the actual work of using it? Okay, you have to plug in the vacuum, big deal.
Now, you may think the cats are my biggest problem in fulfilling my organization-clean obsession, right? The cats are easy. Even Miya, who’s fur gets onto everything and clings until hell freezes over. My problem is the big kid I call Hubby.
I never know where anything is. I haven’t know since he retired from the military. I swear, anything he learned for his own personal benefit while serving was tossed in the nearest dumpster.
The checkbook can be found lying around anywhere. I have to search for it every time I need it. It could be in the bedroom on the vanity, in the computer room under a mountain of mail that he has meant to throw away or on one of the in-tables in the living room. I’ve also found it in the car and the bathroom.
We have a pair of kitchen scissors. Like most houses, our kitchen has a junk drawer. This is where the scissors should be. Hubby leaves them on the counter when I’m lucky. If I’m not lucky, they could be anywhere in the house. Also in the kitchen, we have a trash receptacle. It’s a tall one so that we don’t have to take the trash out to the larger receptacle but once a week. It stands right next to the counter close to the deck door. Hubby can’t find it. Invariably I’ll find trash on the counter right above where the receptacle is.
Hubby wears joggers at work. When he comes home, he likes to take them off and run around in his socking feet. I prefer this because the soles of shoes gunk up floors whether they be carpeted or not. The problem is that he can’t decide where to leave them. I, of course, prefer the closet. He prefers in the middle of any of the rooms. Not only is this not being organized but, because of mobility problems, they’re a hazard for me. He says that he doesn’t understand why this is. Very strange for a man who has lived with me for twenty-four years.
If I could have one thing in life, I’d want an organized neat and tidy home.
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