A nod to my title . . .

So I'm admittedly a bit obsessive-compulsive about cleanliness and order . . .my husband would probably argue that I'm a bit more "than a bit." Regardless, I have found that while I know my spic and span nature is my feeble attempt at controlling existential angst, whenever there is a HUGE mess going on around me, I have no real problem with it. Take for example the current state of our garage, driveway, and house exterior while my handy hubby re-shingles and puts up new siding over our wood. (Please, dear reader, don't shudder-this ain't a Victorian farmhouse we're maiming--but rather a 1960's bi-level with rotting wood) I am so okay with the obnoxious mess going on outside, because it is bigger than anything I can actually do anything about. And, um, yeah, there is also the small detail that handy hubby might maime me if I touched his tools. But, I have discovered how freeing it is to not feel impelled to clean and organize something. To hand that "should" over to no one in particular, because, well, it doesn't matter that looks like a wrecking zone beyond my front door. I feel like laughing at the gods and sticking out my tongue a bit. But instead, I took to ordering the inside of the house--laundry, clean beds, emptied garbage, cleaned-out email . . .all while there is glorious chaos outside. And I'm okay with it. Sort of.