I love my parents. I really do. But they’re killing me right now. Moving back home has been a huge mistake, and if I could afford it I’d move out instantly.
The thing is, I happen to be completely racked with the need to organize. I am meticulous. My bedroom is beautiful, with Ralph Lauren blue walls, neat white trim, and matching all-white furniture. In my clothes closet, I’ve neatly separated my casual shirts and my nicer shirts by hanger color (either blue or white, dresses are on grey hangers), and within those two categories they are organized by color and type. It is impeccable. It is disgusting.
When I had my own apartment, things were constantly cleaned. I vacuumed once a day, I tried to mop my kitchen and bathroom floor once a day. I hated having dishes in the sink, and I usually made my bed in the morning. In my office, my the paper was always perfectly straight on the desk. The books on my bookcase were in alphabetical order by auther and then by title. I’m serious when I say that I have issues.
I’m not exactly where these anal tendencies come from because they sure as hell didn’t come from my parents. My father’s computer desk (at which I’m sitting now), is not visible through stacks of paper. The entire house is like that.
Admittedly, we do have our maid come once a week or so and she is a gift from god.
Today, I did my usual attempts at cleaning- I weeded our gardens, planted sunflowers (ones that I had growing from seeds), cut our hydrangea, did all of the laundry (which is no small feat for our family), mowed the lawns, emptied all of the trash, and cleaned my room. I then decided to hit a major task that had been stressing me out for awhile- the linen closet outside of my bathroom. Another terrible habit of my family is that, rather than putting things in their proper place, they tend to stuff them into the nearest closet. Aforementioned closet consisted of 29 dirty towels, three hairdryers (two of which did not work, and none of the three were mine), 17 bottles of shampoo or conditioner, sheets that had simply been crumpled up in balls at the top of the closet, old notebooks, a lost shoe… you get the point. It was horrid. I started by cleaning it out- three trashbags full of garbage- and painting the entire inside of it- soft yellow with a white trim and white shelves. I then washed all of the sheets, folded them, and organized them by size and put them in two separate labeled bins. I folded all of the towels on the next shelf, then put toiletries and cleaning supplies in two more bins on the next shelf. It looked beautiful, really, and I felt degrees calmer after the cleaning spurt.
My mother was furious- how could I have thrown out all of those things- such as the sunblock that went bad in 1998- without asking her first? And how could I have painted it without asking her (though it does look great)?
My parents have a separate laundry room and closet room attached to their master wing of the house, in which they usually store all of their towels. She suddenly decided that she wanted to ram ALL of the towels in the house into the newly cleaned closet- when they didn’t fit she angrily told me that I hadn’t utilized the space correctly.
That was a rant. A long, frustrated, and probably grammatically-incorrect one. All concluding in one huge fact: I need to move out.