People. I’m going to be admitting a couple things about myself. Mainly that I’m compulsive. Okay, so maybe more like obsessive compulsive.

I’m sure we are all to some extent about something.

Mine is my physical space and it is starting to hinder on my own personal joy and relationships.

While I am hyper aware of these tendencies about myself, it is very hard to step back in the midst of them and say, okay self we are going to stop picking up every single crumb off the kitchen floors, because there’s always going to be another crumb, and we need to stop and relax here.

I figure, the one thing that I can control is my home. Complete control. I can’t help what happens to the people I love but by God, I can scrub the shit out of my hardwood floors and have them all sparkly clean and perfect.

Everything in my home has a place. It is all filed away somewhere, even if somewhere is a random box with crap thrown in there — I still have it labeled to maintain some sense of “order”.

The more out of control the outer circumstances in my life become, the more cleaning I do. The more everything needs to be just so.

I am taking this too far. I am setting a standard that I will not be able to always live up to. I’ve got to let go here.

Can I tell you how hard it is to even listen or pretend I’m listening to The BF when I know someone walked through our living room with shoes on when the whole time I’m calculating how quickly I can start washing the tainted area — I know, watch out! True troubles of the world here. Quite ridiculous.

And sometimes it is too much that I have to handle another person in my space, even though it is The BF and I love him dearly. Because this isn’t about The BF — it’s about me and my stuff.

Ironic that I never allow “my stuff” to translate into physical stuff clogging shit up. No no. I’d much rather have it neatly closed away somewhere, like the linen closet. That’s a perfect place to put things you never want to look at.

Except that it’s come to the point where I need to look at. Because I can’t keep taking things out on Brother and The BF. Not fair to them. And as hard as it may be for me, I need to chill it down 19 notches and relax when they cook.

I find I get bent out of shape about so much shit that just plain doesn’t matter and that’s not how I want to live.

I’m not really sure the best way to go about this letting go … if I should start with not picking every single particle off lint of rugs and floors and let them stay where they are {ahhh horror!!!!!} or if I should simply try to be more aware and not let it affect my mood … or …?

Suggestions?

I’d much rather be more relaxed, more happy about our home — looking and focusing on all the things that are right and wonderful about it instead of nit picking insignificant things like gutters.

Life isn’t perfectly in order and neat. I get that the messy is just as important at times, too … so I’m going to let go. As best I can.

Less cleaning. More fun. Less order. More mess. Ever so slightly! Start small … work in progress, comme toujours.