I have become a clean freak.
Almost overnight - well, more like over the last month, but still, a - if you take something out put it away, if you turn on a light then turn it off, consistantly nagging and scrubbing something neatnik.
I cannot go to bed with a dirty kitchen.
The cushions on the couch being askew sends me over the edge.
The bed must be made.
Unfinshed projects must be completed.
And, (don't gasp), the laundry must be sorted, folded, and put away.
This is unprecedented for me. I have never (and feel free to ask my mother if you think I'm exaggerating), I repeat, never been an instinctual cleaner.
It took an external motivation to make me clean. Often, the prospect of being judged or embrassed by my surroundings, like when people were coming over, could push me over that clorax/bucket edge. But, even then, the difference between neat and clean were lines that consistantly blurred for me and never, for one minute, did I want to be scrubbing the toilet.
I'm not pregnant. Hence, I'm not nesting. We are not selling the house. I don't have any major gatherings on the horizon.
So, what's up? I am freaking myself out. I'm white-on-rice on anyone who leaves anything laying around. I bellow their name creating syllables where they don't exist. It's a tell. They walk slowly.
I suppose I should embrace this new level of white-space living, but to be honest I'm driving myself a little crazy. (Seriously, I'm considering mopping the kitchen floor before bed) And, if I'm sending myself over the edge, I can only imagine what my family must be thinking. Um, did mom get kidnapped by aliens and replaced with a robot version or something? would probably be pretty accurate.
A happy medium would be great. I could get a bit more blogging, reading and commenting done too! Any ideas? Any sympathy? Been there? Talk to me!
CATCH UP FROM THE START!
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