i’ve always had a thing with keeping my spaces picked up. not necessarily scrubbed down and sanitized, but at least uncluttered. in college i made my bed every morning right when i got out of it. for one, i couldn’t get back in as easily if it was all perfect. (i’m good at out-foxing myself like that!) and two, in a room as big as a closet, the more smooth, blank horizontal surfaces i had, the better. a clean room meant a clean mind for me. i am so much calmer if i feel like i have things together around me, and dirty rooms are something you can always tackle and beat into submission.
it’s gotten worse as my personal spaces have mushroomed in size. i won’t say our house is always picked up, it’s not. it goes in waves. usually the waves go: clean, katie works doubles for a few days, dirty, katie gets a night or day off, clean, repeat. but i always feel like i’m a bit more in charge, a bit more pulled together, if the house is picked up. and there is nothing like waking up to an entirely clean house, just as there is nothing like waking up to dirty dishes, dog toys everywhere, and a living room pillow explosion. it can either make or break a day for me, it’s that serious.
pete helps out when he can, but he’s busy too. and i’ve found that guys just don’t get as emotionally invested in whether or not the dishes have been put up and the laundry’s been folded. so i succumb to my neuroses and straighten, wipe down, dust, fold, etc., usually when he’s not home (i get distracted by the lure of couch time and hours of dexter when he’s around).
does anyone else have this association between spaces and mental stability? i know where i got it: my mother. she’s more insane than i am (you are pretty much not allowed to even cook on her flattop stove lest you drip something on it). i hope this tendency of mine doesn’t ripen with age, or i am going to have to work from home in order to keep it as clean as i’d like.