Everything Has Its Place
I realized today as I put away my meatloaf pan and had to keep bending down to make sure it was centered properly in the cabinet, that I have developed a degree of OCD in my retirement. Well, let’s not kid ourselves, I always had that tendency, beginning from when I was a little girl and my mother would ask me a question to which I’d reply, “I think I don’t know” repeatedly until she finally almost knocked me through a wall. That was the only acceptable form of therapy back in those days by the way, but I guess it worked because I stopped after that. I also used to knock on wood about 50 times, as if that was my direct connection to God, before I could finally fall asleep. I’d pray to keep all my loved ones safe. A bit of OCD behavior, I’d say, but we find comfort where we can, don’t we.
But now, my apartment is so orderly you would all be jealous. Of course, I’m the only one living here, but that is beside the point. And it’s not just that everything has a place. It’s that everything is positioned exactly as I would like it to be in its place, including my keyboard and the pillows on my chair that I use while writing. The chair is pushed in just so and the little pink sunflower lamp is the perfect distance from my laptop and mouse. And I know this should bother me because this can only get worse, but it doesn’t. At least not yet. And let me be clear here that I’m not a clean freak because you wouldn’t want to run your finger across the top of my dresser, but you wouldn’t even be inclined to do that since everything on it is so neat.
Now, I admit I’m on my eighth season of Monk and if anyone here has ever watched that show, you know why this might have impacted my own little OCD habits. I never thought it was contagious, I mean technically, we’re not even in the same room, but then again, aren’t we?
All this being said, I want you to know that I know why I’m behaving this way because as we all know, I’m an overthinker and this is about control, or what I deem as lack thereof. As I age, I feel there is less I can control in my life and that frightens me. I’m referring to health and aging concerns, not only for myself, but my loved ones as well. So, this little bit of maneuvering a pan or a vase until it looks just right reaffirms that there are things within my control, no matter how small, and that comforts me. It also looks right so that makes me feel good too. I surround myself with fairy lights and girlie sparkling things that make me happy and everything has its place and purpose . . . just like me.
Dare to share?