I’ve noticed more and more lately that I have a strong and very definite limit when it comes to a messy house. I can be sailing through my day, content in the fullness and then, wham!, all of a sudden the house is just a bit past my edge and I become a raving lunatic. I can deal with a few things out of place. And, let’s face it, with small children running around, you will always have a few things out of place. And did I mention that I live with a man? Enough said.
Over the years my standards for tidiness have loosened up a bit but there is no denying they are still there and once the mess factor has gone past my pre-determined level of acceptance, look out!
For instance, as I write this, I’m having a very hard time not straightening up my bedroom where my laptop happens to be right now. Most of the mess in here is mine but it still makes me jumpy, short of breath and, forget it, I’ll be right back.
OK, things are now back to a manageable level and I can breathe normally again. I recognize that this may have to do with perfectionism and “Type-A”ism but what is also has to do with is this: The world these days can be a crazy, over-stimulating place. Time and people seem to be in a big fat hurry. There are many things I can’t control. What I can control is my home environment: how it looks and how it feels. So, while the rest of the world scurries around outside and I get to be safe at home, it seems reasonable to me that I’d prefer it to be neat and tidy. Now, if the rest of my family could just get onboard…