Yeah, I'm on medicine for this

When I've got a lot of things on my mind, instead of laying on the couch and watching dumb movies like I should, I start picking up around the house. Only this time, my house was really dirty and, well, I'm just not that crazy. I don't want to clean-clean.

See, I like picking up Dave's clothes from the floor and hiding them from my view. Then the bedroom looks clean, even though anyone who peeks around the closet door could see it's clearly not. But I sleep better. And no one's peeking in closets, anyhow.

This time, while throwing his clothes on top of his mountain of previously tossed clothes on his dresser, I got this urge to gogogo cleancleanclean putthingsawaynow. I don't get a lot of sleep this way.

Any other day of the week, it makes. No. Difference to me -- not one iota of difference -- where my socks go. But when I've got stuff on my mind, suddenly, I'm dumping the whole drawer on the bed and I'm folding them and rearranging them by season (like, wool socks in the back, and athletic socks in the "why do I have these" pile in the way-back). I'm pulling T-shirts out of drawers and hanging them up. I'm refolding sweaters. I'm debating on moving where I keep things.

Then, I get even more overwhelmed.

So, this is the last hour of my night:

"My life will be so much more bearable if I could just find these socks in October when I start wearing real shoes again! I can't even bear to think about not being able to find socks to go with that sweater before work this fall! I can't deal!"

Then I wipe the sweat off my forehead, because -- and I don't care if the A/C is fixed or not -- there is hardly any air upstairs coming out of any vent. And it's hot.

"And if I give these sweatshirts and sweaters to Goodwill, I'll have room to put these shirts there ... Or should I put them here?"

I stop to set the wooly things down on the bed to wipe the sweat from my forearms after holding the pile of sweaters too long. Then, I glance down at the pile on the bed.

"Oh, (expletive)." Socks. Pants. Shirts. Shorts I didn't remember still owning. Shirts I probably shouldn't own anymore.

So I open the dresser drawers and just start shoving clothes inside. I throw my socks back in their drawer, in no particular order. I shut the bedroom door and walk downstairs.

Done.

It worked. I mean, for a good five minutes I was feeling stressed about something I had complete control over. It was awesome.