My mother and I borrowed season one of Monk from the library and have been watching them, and last night I got up from talking to my husband and straightened the slats on the venetian blinds. When I changed into my jammies, I found myself thinking about rotating my sweaters in the stack so I wouldn't wear the same one twice in a row. I'm afraid Mr. Monk may not be a good influence on me.
I was persuaded to stop alphabetizing my spices, but I still separate them by ground/powdered and whole, and I still organize the pantry and refrigerator: all pastas together, all soups one place, all canned beans one place, all canned veggies one place, all canned fruit another place, jams here, condiments there.... It sounds nuts, maybe, but how many times has somebody stood in front of the refrigerator, staring in, and asked me--in another part of the house--where something is in the fridge and I could tell them? Many times, that's how many.
So where does efficiency end and OCD start? Where is the line between getting irritated when something is out of place because it's harder to find--and twitching when something is out of place because it's out of place?
We're enjoying Monk, who (in case you don't know the show) uses his OCD focus on details and pattern to deduce what has happened and who did it. It's like Sherlock Holmes on PRESCRIPTION drugs.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go straighten all the pictures and comb the fringe on the rugs.