Evidence of a problem

I think I have a problem. Okay, I have LOTS of problems, but this post is specifically about my neurosis involving having things JUST RIGHT and the way I want them. Some might call this  obsessive compulsive disorder, but I am able to function semi-normally under most circumstances, so I don't think this really qualifies as OCD.

When I was a kid, I would count everything. The worst was steps. I would count my steps as I walked to and from school. Even if I was thinking about something else, my subconscious mind would be counting. I learned to kind of ignore the counting or distract myself by reading a book, but to this day I still find myself counting steps. And stairs ... I can tell you that there are 89 stairs leading down to the beach we like to go to from the highway where we usually park. I can tell you that there are 36 stairs from the first floor to the third floor of my doctor's office. If I were ever to be suddenly struck blind, I could probably get around pretty well just by counting steps.

When we got married, we registered for Fiestaware dishes. We got four sets of blue and four sets of white. I stack my dishes in the cabinet blue, white, blue, white. Apparently this is strange to my husband and my mother-in-law, because when they put the dishes away, they refuse to stack them blue, white, blue, white. I can't tell you how difficult it is for me to resist fixing them when I see they're stacked out of order. In fact, I have yet to resist fixing them, even if my mother-in-law is standing right there. Ugh, why am I so ungrateful?  When she first moved in with us, it drove me bananas and I would get physically angry with them for not getting it. I realize now that this is MY problem, not theirs, so I need to just get over myself. However, I still can't resist fixing the dishes when I see two whites next to each other ... *shudder*

I cook a lot. I have three cookbooks from which I get the majority of my recipes. I have a couple of others, but they are in Spanish, and a bit hard to follow, so I generally avoid those unless my husband asks for something specifically. My main beef with these recipes is their lack of any kind of organization. I can't stand it when the ingredients list is in random order. One cookbook I have doesn't even mention all the ingredients in the instructions. I mean, seriously, why don't we put crushed glass in this soup recipe to see if they're really paying attention? ...  I also get upset when, in a recipe that's just "throw everything in the pot and boil for 20 minutes" or "blend all ingredients until smooth," the wet ingredients are listed before the dry ingredients. I hate having to wash and dry my measuring cups and spoons just so I can get a teaspoon of onion powder and have to wash them again. It's so much simpler to measure the onion powder first, then pour the wet ingredients into the spoon. No washing or drying necessary!

My pots and pans are special to me. Especially dear is my griddle. It's non-stick, so it requires extra love and attention not to scratch it and ruin it. My griddle has its own drawer in the hallway cabinet, where it sits perfectly content in its original packaging while the cockroaches fan it and feed it grapes. (Kidding! Our cockroaches don't fan or feed, they just sing La Cucaracha while dancing across the countertops.) (Never mind, that was funnier in my head where it belongs ...) Anyway, no one is allowed to wash it because I don't want them to scratch it, and no one is allowed to put it away because the molded Styrofoam won't fit in the box if you don't put the pieces together just right. It's like a giant foam jigsaw puzzle. When it's right, it just slides in. When it's wrong, the box bulges and it tears at the corners, and it doesn't fit in the drawer. I could just store it without the box, but then it wouldn't stay as clean. I actually had three arguments with different people who insisted that it just didn't fit the same way.

And then, there's the clothes. I love folding clothes. If I were asked to choose my favorite chore, folding clothes would be it. I love seeing that stack of uniformly folded shirts. I love meticulously folding sweaters so that they sit just right on the shelf and wear wrinkle-free. I love (or used to love since I no longer work) hanging my work clothes according to function and color. I still have my work clothes organized just so in my closet even though I haven't touched most of them in almost a year.

I'm sure this obsession is just some immature response to remind everyone that I am responsible enough to run my own house. However, it makes everyone else crazy, and it ultimately makes more work for me. But I really just love having a place for everything and everything in its place.

Hey, at least I don't vacuum my vacuum ... very often ...