Confessions of a Serial Cleaner
I am officially a serial cleaner. I can't stop. It seems fueled by the lovely skill that I see everything that is not in its right place. Everything. Exhibit A: There is a can of V8 juice sitting on the coffee table that has been there for over a day. I have been waiting to see if anyone will pick it up. They have not. Why I don't pick it up myself is beyond me. I feel this need to force myself to let things go. That the can is not hurting anyone. Surely it's empty so it's just a can. ~~But what if it's not. What if it's full and it's getting all moldy?! Ack. Yes Cathy fans, I just ack'd. I have even resorted to evaluating my need to clean. Because it seems to be a problem. Yes I am my own therapist. It's cheaper that way. I sometimes wonder if I didn't notice everything would I still feel the need to clean. I also wonder why I have this maddening compulsion To clean. I mean a little dust never hurt anyone right?? It is partly geneti