let's say...

Let's say you happen to be a bit of a neat freak. And you also happen to live with someone who is NOT. Let's say you go into the kitchen each and every morning and you find crumbs all over the counter top. You've asked the Resident Slob to pleasepleaseplease wipe up the crumbs; you've used reason to appeal to Resident Slob's intellect (which he/she claims to have an abundance of). You've tried every trick in the book, to no avail. So every morning begins the same way (kinda like that movie "Groundhog Day") You walk into the kitchen and get your shorts in a twist because Resident Slob has fixed another sandwich at god-knows-what-time during the night and there they are...crumbs crumbs crumbs all over the place. ARRRRGGGGGGG!!!

Let's say this has gone on for a long, long, l-o-n-g time and you want to bash in the head of said Resident Slob. You have reached your wit's end. You are on your last nerve. You are ready to throw a tantrum. You leave the kitchen, with coffee in hand, and return to your CLEAN AND TIDY space, trying your best to regulate your breathing and not kill the imbecile.

Now what?

Let's say that one day it finally occurs to you that perhaps this is another of those situations over which you have absolutely NO CONTROL. You sit in your very clean living room, sipping your coffee and muse over this thought. Slowly, a little smile glides across your face. The smile grows larger and decides to plant itself for awhile. It's not going anywhere right now. You sit with your smile...and let the thought throb for a bit. Let's say the thought goes something like this:

"Listen here, little Missy. You know good and well you can NOT control what Resident Slob does or does not do. You also know that the only control you have is over what YOU do or do not do. You know there is a solution here but you're being stubborn as an ass which is why the solution eludes you. How 'bout you try what you have not yet tried? How 'bout next time you make your way to the kitchen you expect those crumbs to be there, just like you expect the sink to be full of dirty dishes. How 'bout instead of getting yourself in a snit over those stupid crumbs, you just make them another part of your usual morning ritual (like washing the dishes) and wipe them up yourself? How 'bout you quit trying to make Resident Slob change and just allow him/her to be who he/she is? Whaddya think?"

Let's say that when that thought finally gels, you find yourself giggling over how ridiculously simple it was. Do you suppose your day would be different? Do you suppose your mornings would be more pleasant? Do you suppose you would avoid a life in prison because you found a solution that did not include bashing in the head of Resident Slob?

I'm thinkin'....yes.

SHEEEESH!!!

moments of clarity

Dad was a stickler for doing things right. And doing them well. And keeping things in their proper places. He didn't do much to help my mom around the house; that was her job. But his workshop was always neat and orderly. The moment he finished whatever he was doing, he'd put all his tools away and vacuum the sawdust off of every surface. If somebody went into his shop and moved anything, the moment he walked in he'd notice it. I always admired that about him. I'm guessing it was the beginning of my own "attention to detail".

The downside of my dad's keen eye was that while he always noticed if something was 'off', he rarely if ever said a word when something was done to perfection by any of his children. He was, for the most part, great at badgering and terrible at praising. My friend once called him that: a "badgerer". And she also noted that I had grown up to be "just like him".

I didn't much like the sound of that. But I knew she was correct. She wasn't trying to be mean; she was simply trying to show me something I'd long overlooked. I had become quite the pain-in-the-butt when it had to do with the men in my life. Nothing was ever good enough. If he did the dishes or laundry or vacuuming, I would go behind him to see that it was done properly. Not surprisingly, I would always find the job to be 'less-than' done. According to my standards, it was a shabby job. So rather than saying thank you I'd re-do whatever it was he'd done.

I'm quite certain it drove most of them nuts. But none ever said a word. They'd just keep trying until finally they'd quit doing anything at all. Go figure.

It wasn't until I moved in with a man (who was not my lover or even a friend) to share a large house that I saw what I'd been doing. To be sure, the guy was what can only be termed a "slob". But that wasn't what got my attention. I had promised to take care of the kitchen. I would do all the cooking and cleaning in exchange for a reduction in rent. That was the deal we struck and I was determined to keep my end of the bargain.

About a year into it, he walked into the kitchen while I was cooking dinner. He 'took over' my work space so he could make some guacamole for his pre-dinner snack. I said something about the way he was cutting the tomatoes (or some stupid thing like that) and the guy just FREAKED. He was a fairly quiet man who rarely raised his voice. But at that moment, I guess he'd had enough. He started hollering like a crazy person, waving the knife around and reading me the riot act.

I remember thinking, "Wow. He sure is sensitive. I was just trying to help him get it right." But what I didn't realize was that for more than a year I'd been nit-picking the poor guy to death and he'd finally reached his limit. He was fed up with me and my badgering. He had all this stuff bottled up and when the cork blew, he let me have it. BIG TIME.

Of course, at that moment I thought he was being completely unreasonable. When I tried to speak, he told me to shut my mouth and just listen. He was enraged to the point that I really thought he might hit me. I backed off and went back to my 'wing' of the house to let him cool off and to allow my own heart rate to stabilize.

And that's when it hit me.

I saw the whole thing as if it were a movie. I heard every criticism I'd ever made. I felt the resentment and the irritation and the condescension I'd showered on him for all that time. And I saw all the others who I'd done the same thing to for all those many years. In a flash, I saw me as my father.

OUCH.

A short while later, I went back downstairs and asked if I could speak. He'd calmed down by then and allowed me the floor. I apologized with more sincerity than I'd ever mustered in my life. I told him about my moment of clarity and how it came to me. I also told him that I would do my very best to never, ever do those things again.

I could see the relief in his eyes. I saw his body relax and heard the change in his voice when he told me it was okay. He accepted my apology and never said another word about it. And then the strangest thing happened.

Shortly after that I noticed that he'd begun doing things around the house that he'd never done before. Little things. Like putting his dishes in the bin of soapy water I always left in the sink (I'd asked him to do this for a long time. He never would oblige.); or putting his shoes in his own room instead of leaving them all over the house. Or  taking the trash out before it spilled onto the cupboard floor. He even started picking up his trash out on the patio. Little things that he'd never done that had always driven me crazy. Without my asking, he began to do the things that I'd always 'nagged' him about.

Every time I noticed something he'd done, I'd say thank you. I realized that it was one of the things I hated about how my dad treated us. And having seen it up close and personal, I vowed I'd never do that again. Those "little things" made all the difference in the world. To both of us. It wasn't long before the roommate and I had a whole new dynamic going on. Everything seemed so easy. No friction, no angst, no resentment. Just a fair and equitable cohabitation that made life for both of us so much more pleasant.

And all that time I thought it was everyone else who was a mess.

GEEZLOUIZE.

neat-freaks and other curious folk

Been thinking about the whole 'neat-freak' thing lately. Mostly because the person with whom I share a kitchen is probably one of THE biggest slobs I've ever known. Add his house-guests to the mix, and it makes for quite the challenge for a neat-freak. Up until a few months ago, I would just clean up behind them. I'd walk into the kitchen, see the disaster, and just get busy. Of course, this only led to my ever-growing resentment. On top of that, it all went unnoticed (my cleaning up, that is). So I created this pattern of YOU make the mess, I'LL clean it up. My bad. It never occurred to me that I was teaching him (and his slovenly guests) to make as big a mess as they wanted and Camille would clean up. Like I was the household slave. SHEESH!

A few months ago, just before yet another group of guests were to arrive, I told him outright: "I will NOT be cleaning up after you OR your guests. If they use my things (which they ALWAYS do) I expect for them to be put back where they belong. It's not my job to clean up after your guests, so you're on your own." He followed with, "I don't expect you to." Gee. Really? Howz that again?

I did realize at that point that it was my own doing. I was the one who created that expectation (even though he denied having it). But the thing was, I just couldn't stand the mess. It drove me NUTSO. I figured it was 'easier' to clean up than to put up with the anxiety of seeing that stinking mess. I was SO wrong.

What I've come to understand is that one part of my neat-freak-ness has to do with my on-going control issues. I like things to be where they're supposed to be. I like things to be clean and orderly. I like things the way I like things. Why is it so hard for people to honor that? Why do they insist on making it so difficult? Why, why, why? WAH WAH WAH. Lord have mercy on us!

And then there are those blessed moments of clarity. When you finally see it for what it is and you ask yourself, "what took ya so long? ya knucklehead." Immediately followed by loads of laughter and a long shaking of the head. GEEZLOUISE. You'd think that somebody who is supposed to be so dang smart would've seen that long ago, right?

Not so much.

Neat-freaks are very often control-freaks. They kinda go hand-in-hand. I've always known I was a control-freak AND a neat-freak, but I never put two and two together. Until this week. I got home from running some errands the other day, and the kitchen was...you guessed it...a DISASTER. When I'd left the house, it was spotless. One of the guests had made a scrumptious dinner the night before, and I'd been invited to join them. So, as is my norm, I cleaned up afterwards. That's how I was raised. But not everyone was raised that way. To me, it is disrespectful to go into another person's home, make a mess, and not clean up after yourself. To them, it's "nothing". They don't even consider the fact that there is another person living in this house. They use my stuff, eat my food, and never say a word or lift a hand. You call that good manners?

Apparently, my expectations are way out of whack. Because I was still hoping for someone to step up and clean up. I was absolutely out of my mind on that one. People are not going to adhere to 'rules' that they have no clue about. And it's not my job to teach them manners, right? So the dilemma came right back on me. Am I going to allow this to bug the bejeebers outta me or just let it go? Why do I torture myself with what they do or don't do? Why should I even give it one moment's attention? Because it's for damn sure they're not. So...what I ended up with is this:

First: this is NOT a "forever" situation. There will come a day, in the near future, when I will NOT have to share a kitchen. So, take a breath Little Missy. RELAX!
Second: make it clear to said house guests what belongs to whom the moment they step into the kitchen. Tell them the 'rules' and let them decide what they're going to use. It became quite obvious that the roommate didn't have the balls to do it, so that part was up to me. "These are my things. You are welcome to use them so long as you care for them properly and return them to their specified places." End of story. You'd be surprised how many won't touch the stuff after that. Must be too much pressure. (grin) Either way, I don't much give a rip. My stuff, my rules. Period. (bet ya didn't know I was such a tyrant, huh?)
Lastly, it's pretty easy to just not use the kitchen when they're here. So...stay outta there. Then you don't have to git yerself in a tizzy over it. Just leave it be. They won't be here forever. As for the roommate...well, he is who he is. I'm not gonna change him or his habits. I can stay and shut up about it or I can find another place to live. Easy.

Control-freaks are a curious breed, doncha think?