*A few iPhone captures from lately...which -- ding ding! -- are in no way relevant to this post.
So, every once in awhile, I get into these cleaning moods where I lose. my. mind. I go bananas, nutter butters, bonkers, berserk. I'm a truly accomplished micro-cleaner -- the bookcase and my sock drawer are a thing of wonder. Folks oughta flock to take in the magnificence of my little corners -- to study them, take it all in, travel home changed. National parks kinda status. But STAY AWAY FROM OUR CLOSET. When it comes to macro-cleaning -- here, Bridget, make this room clean-ish and functional-ish -- just, no. The clarity and precision with which my mind tackles spot cleaning are rendered useless in these scenarios. Everything goes to mush. But through the fog I exclaim, yeah, let's do this!
And so what we have now, in our living room, is a giant pile of everything from our closet...all of which needs to be sorted and either placed neatly back into the closet or otherwise donated. It might sound like a good idea, but the method is definitely flawed. Because, well, like 70% of it was fine and not in any needing of sorting or re-hanging or any tampering at all. But I let the other 30% rule the roost and -- like I said -- I lose my mind. So I've created a leviathan (and unnecessary) task for myself this evening. And probably while I abandoned my outpost, the dogs have laid in a pile of clothes that didn't need sorting in the first place, which will now need to be re-washed and re-dried and re-ironed and re-hung as a result of the dog fur. All because I am crazy.