My House is a Mess
My House is a Mess.
My OCD can’t stop reminding me. There’s a pile of things for the thrift store, recycling for the bin, and so much laundry for me. I am at work right now - and I can't stop thinking about my home. Once I am home I will leave for a doctor's appointment. When I return I will be too tired to clean - exhausted into complying to live in this mess. Exhausted from thinking about it all day.
Mess is probably a debatable term. After all, I have OCD. But mess is all I feel. All I remember about the home I left this morning. I’m not thinking of my sweet cat sleeping on the couch - I’m thinking of the washer I forgot to switch over last night. I’m not thinking about the fluffy duvet waiting to cover me tonight - I think of the plants that I should be taking better care of.
I love my home - I've spent years picking every piece and decorating like so. Moving things and donating them when they no longer suit my life. I don’t think about those beautiful pieces. I think about the six dirty dishes in the sink. Seven dirty dishes if you count the spoon I stirred my coffee with this morning that I left on the counter. I think of the dry coffee spot the spoon is leaving right now and how I will have to wipe it up when I am home.
When does the mind relax? It can’t be in the independent silence at work. I haven’t found it on my drive home. It’s not waiting for me when I sit on the couch after a long day or when I crawl into bed after a long night. It’s not in my dreams and it’s not in those moments between snoozing on the alarm. What curse is it to be compulsively obsessed with the unattainable?
