Organized Chaos

Obsessive Compulsive Disorder - OCD. It's something I will never fully understand. I cannot comprehend how things like cleaning and counting can control your life, but I can comprehend how such things can be an interference.

I think a lot of people have tendencies to be OCD. I have my own set of quirks, if you will.



Have you ever gone for a walk and had to take an extra step because the number of steps you took wasn't an even number? I have. It may look silly and it may sound silly, but I feel off if the count isn't an even number. I don't count my steps or how many times I tap my fingers every day, all the time, but when I do, when I have to, it drives me nuts.


Cleaning - I am not an obsessive cleaner by any means. You may not want to come over my place if you are. I'm not saying that the house is a mess. What I am saying is that my dishes aren't always done right after dinner or the toys aren't all put away at the end of the day.

But when I do the dishes, usually after the kids go to bed or the next morning, there's a certain way to do them. Certain things need to be washed before others. The dishwasher needs to be loaded or unloaded a certain way. I think that may be why the husband doesn't (un)load the dishwasher anymore. If it's not how I do it than it's wrong. Does that mean my way is better? No. But again, I feel off.


Organizing may not be the perfect word for the placement of things around the house, but it's what I have for now. My apologies.

We have a bookshelf in our dining room. My father-in-law made it and it is just beautiful. And all mine! My books are categorized by author on the shelves. That makes sense, but I also categorize them according to size, unless the book is part of a series. Do you know how much it bothers me that all my Harry Potter books are different sizes?!

On top of my bookshelf are my crystal figures my brother likes to get my for Christmas. Each one has it's own stand and a particular place. Surrounding those are pictures of my kids - all 3. Along with a few of my cousin's babies. Each picture has it's own spot. Each frame has to be a just the right angle. The blue glass booties around my son's hospital picture have to be just so.


I don't know how I managed it, but everyone in the house knows not to move anything on my bookshelf. Or the corner shelf with other nick-nacks I've collected over the years. Yes, they all have their own spot as well. The kids have never broke anything. No one has ever been yelled at for moving something. Maybe they just realize how obsessive I am about where those things go.

I don't know why I'm like this. I've had to deal with some pretty big things in my life, but I wouldn't consider any of those events traumatic enough to trigger anything. Or maybe they did trigger something and I haven't made the connection yet.


These little things I do are not things I deal with every day. I cannot imagine intensifying these thoughts and actions and then trying to live a life on top of that. I cannot comprehend how that would work. But I do understand a fraction.