Everything in its right place
Picture this: Saturday morning, no alarm clock, you wake up with natural light shining through your closed curtains. Birds are chirping as if in a Disney movie. No obligations today except for a flat white on a south-facing balcony. Sound like a dream?
That's because it is.
My reality:
I get up and take one good look around at flat and:
Let the Saturday-morning-Olympiads begin!
1st leg : Angry collection of misplaced coffee cups, extra points for not breaking said cups
2nd leg: Frustrated laundry folding, harrumphing encouraged
3rd leg: Grumpy vacuuming, try to make as much noise as possible
Rinse and repeat.
Every.
Week.
Talking to people around me, most agree, cleaning is time-consuming and boring. But to them, it's merely an inconvenience, not something to get your knickers in a bunch about.
This upsets me. Then I get upset because I got upset.
Awesome.
Picture my delight when a few days ago I came across a theory that made me feel like I wasn't at fault. That I was but a victim of my wiring. That the space I was living in could just be an extension of my nervous system. That, you know, I just might be one of those people.
AHA!
I do get an itch when things are not in their place. For some people, a dirty coffee cup is just that, a dirty coffee cup. To me that same coffee cup creates imbalance in an ecosystem that is already on the brink of toppling over. Call me dramatic, I dare you.
And sure, I can still sit down and read my cozy book when my home is untidy. But it doesn't feel the same. My mind bounces from the coffee cup in the sink, to that solitary sock on the sofa to the dishwasher that needs to be unloaded. The messiness around me creates a new layer of sensory stimulation. The same levels of stimulation I am trying to keep in check to finally be able to relax.
Damn, I think I just understood where my anger comes from. I get up in the morning, already overstimulated by my workweek and instead of being able to rest and to clean later, I have to tidy first, while already being at low capacity.
Oh, to be a sensitive soul!
Oh well, at least now that I know that, I'm going to find new wind-down systems and be nicer to myself, right?
RIGHT?!
Well, I said I was sensitive, not sensible.
