Being obsessive and surviving Hurricane Katrina

What has me pacing today? Eighteen months have passed since the day of Hurricane Katrina. We have food, water, and ice. We have electricity and working plumbing. The house smells good. We have floors and walls. We even have one and a half working vehicles. (Sorry, Dave - the truck doesn't count as an entire working vehicle.)

Having the house fixed is frustrating, yes... But if I'm honest then I have to admit that most of the time it is more exciting than frustrating. We have the chance to redecorate. We have the time (plenty and plenty of time) to make choices and do things exactly the way we'd like to do them. For the moment at least -- and I do try to stay in the moment as much as possible -- we have enough money to finish the tasks at hand. So, yes... having the house fixed is actually a good thing.

So what's up with my anxiety?

The little things. The little things make me bite my nails and keep me awake at night. No exaggeration here -- this stuff really, really gets to me. I think before you could totally understand why the simple lack of finished baseboards is eating away at my very core -- you would have to know me a little better.

Yesterday, Mom told me that my sister, Peggy, is currently fighting a losing battle against her new driveway and some clay. Apparently, they just had one half of their new driveway installed at their new house - and this is a good thing. The bad thing is that the as yet incomplete yard is mostly clay.... and it has rained a lot lately. Sticky clay + new driveway = crazy-making This equation holds true if you've got some of our blood running through your veins, I think. Poor Peggy now finds herself pressure-washing the driveway constantly to remove the red clay and has resorted to washing car tires before they are allowed on the drive. This is bad. But I understand. See - Peggy couldn't live without baseboards for long either.

This afternoon as I lay sprawled on my living room floor checking for smudges on the hardwood finish... I thought to myself: "I think I have some sort of obsessive disorder." If I can't see my reflection in the wood floor - then I haven't cleaned it enough.

I don't even think these floors are meant to shine like this. As a matter of fact, the floor- refinisher guy (who incidentally didn't ever call us back) who was here a couple months ago said he'd never seen this kind of floor with such a shiny finish. Ha! And it looked smudged to me.

What did you see in this picture? I snapped it while critiquing the shine on the floors... But when I actually uploaded the picture all I could see is the lack of baseboard, the drywall mud around the electrical outlet, the missing cabinet doors, the old carpet scrunched up against the wall in the background, and a lump of something black on the kitchen floor (I think it's a sweater. I hope it's a sweater because we don't own a black cat). Please save me.

If you're familiar with Mom's blog then you are aware that there may well be a genetic component to this sort of thing. As I was backing out of her driveway yesterday afternoon, she was furiously sweeping away at tiny leaves that had gathered near her garage door. "I remind myself of Peggy," she said. "And me!" I shouted back. Yeah. I wonder where we get it from.

Thank goodness we never got a FEMA trailer. I would have killed myself trying to Clorox the thing to remove the mildew. That is, if I had survived it being not perfectly straight in the yard... or a cinderblock out of place underneath. And the pipes that they run from the trailer to the water and sewer lines... OH what a bad idea! The grass grows up around them in our warm weather and they're much too low to the ground to allow lawnmowers to pass under. What this means is that if we had gotten a FEMA trailer - I would have spent the last 18 months outside cutting the grass with scissors.

I think Swapna understands. Or at least Swaperfectionista would understand.

Dave was trying to cheer me up around New Year's this year and told me he wanted to buy me something. Anything. Anything I wanted - just name it. Did I tell him I wanted a mink coat? A new ring? A sequined red dress? Five hundred dollar shoes? Nope. I asked for a Bissell SpotBot. I don't have a jewelry habit. I don't shop at fancy stores. I am not particular about my hair or my makeup. However, I am sure I have more cleaning supplies than Servicemaster. I think I was the first person in Pascagoula to buy a Mr. Clean Magic Eraser -- and this makes me proud.

So what happens to someone like me after a major catastrophe?

I lose my mind, that's what.

Maybe someday when the house... and the town... the county... the entire coastline.. is put back together - I'll be able to settle down. For now though I think I'll go try to get the sheetrock dust out from behind the glass on the oven clock.