Sometimes the results I want in life come from a drive nestled in a neurosis.
This Saturday, the hubs and I got into a cleaning mode. I love a clean house, smooth counters, fresh smell, everything in its place. Our house rarely gets to this level of clean on whole. It’s more like a room here, or a cupboard there.
For a few hours we scrub and vacuum, rinse, and relocate, and as I go, my brain tucks further into itself. The more I clean the more I worry about contamination. Is this sponge cleaning or spreading germs?
I know the thoughts are based in reality, but they go far beyond that. Well at least I think so, neurosis has a funny way of legitimizing itself.
I start to wonder if it would be better if I was a person who couldn’t go to bed until the stove and counters were all wiped down. Perhaps if I was just a little more neurotic, I could be less neurotic.
After a few hours, I’ll wind down, and feel pretty good at a job reasonably well done.
But I’m left wondering, is all of this neurosis worth it?