a nicer way to say OCD

I suppose you could call me a meticulous person. I live somewhere in between a state of carelessness and OCD that could be called meticulous. (It could also be called anal-retentive at moments, but we won't go into that now.)

Besides, meticulous sounds better. It means careful and tidy and attentive to detail--all ways in which I am fairly certain I can be described. I like to have the bed made (well, I insist on having the bed made--my husband indulges me). I like to have the bathroom counters clean and shiny. I like to keep the dust off the bookshelves (and believe me, this is no small task considering the sheer volume of bookshelves in our home). I hang the coats on certain hooks on the coat rack so that it looks uniform (this may be a revelation that borders closer to OCD...). We have nice things. I want them to stay that way.

I've never really understood people who live sloppily, and that is not to say that I judge them, I just come in to a messy house and can't comprehend what has happened. It's like the episode of Friends when Ross tries to date a supermodel whose name escapes me only to discover that her apartment is absolutely and completely trashed--to the exaggerated point that no one could actually live in such filth, but the point is that regardless of how hot she is, Ross dumps her because she lives in a dump. Mess and clutter gnaw away at me. Not that I don't have clutter. I just contain my clutter, in stacks and folders, stashed neatly away inside a cabinet or closet or file. Then, of course, I can't find it later, which has led to my reputation as something of a packrat, to which my husband can testify, as he has helped me move. Twice. "Do you need this?" he will ask. "Well...." is usually my response. He proceeds to toss said item into a garbage bag. At which point I protest. "If you're going to get rid of it, at least give it to Goodwill." I think we took half of my apartment to Goodwill after we got married.

My meticulous nature has yet to fully transfer to my husband, though. He is notorious for leaving glasses and half-empty soda cans scattered through the house, especially on nights when he is preoccupied by a certain computer game. We share the computer desk in our loft, and often the next morning I sit down to do school work only to find crumbs, sometimes enough that I can ascertain what he ate for dinner the previous night. And though he has learned to make the bed (thanks, honey), his bathroom habits are not up to par yet. As previously mentioned, I like a clean and shining sink counter. My husband has a frequent habit of trimming not only his facial hair but all of his other hair as well over the sink...on the exact day that I have cleaned the sink counter. So when I go to brush my teeth, there is enough of his DNA scattered around the sink to clone him. Last night I even found nail clippings. The FBI would have a field day with our home if they ever needed our DNA samples. What with the bathroom clippings and my constant (and involuntary) shedding of stray hairs.

Yet fortunately, Lucas is meticulous in ways that I am not--he is financially responsible, and now has an iPod Touch that has forced him to actually use a calendar. It's the single greatest purchase he has ever made. He also usually does the vacuuming and cleaning of other floor-type surfaces, a chore that I loathe. We made a deal after we moved in together that we would each have certain domains, and thankfully we are each meticulous about our given responsibilities.

And somehow, some way, my obsessive compulsive behavior has not deterred his love. It's an amazing feat, really. Sometimes we both wonder what we've gotten ourselves into. But there's never a dull moment. Except on my shiny bathroom counter.