Do I Rule My House, or Does My House Rule Me?

I decided, about four hours ago, that I am too connected to my house. Or maybe, my house is too connected to me.

By the time that Short Person fell asleep on the couch, my house looked like one of those homes that you see on television shows where they either have to go in and condemn the place because the person had 45 cats and eight years of newspapers piled up, or the person got so desperate they hired one of those cleaning crews usually reserved for crime scene clean up. Or, maybe not. But it was definitely on the worse side of MESSY!

Usually when my blood pressure rises, I can feel it. It starts in my toes and depending upon the circumstance either bursts out the top of my head, or rests at about eyebrow level. Today, my blood pressure was resting somewhere around midforehead. It burst through when I walked into the bathroom and noticed along the way that Short Person had gotten hold of the baby powder and had managed to make my office look like a scene straight out of Scarface.

I'm afraid I didn't handle the situation as well as I could have, due in part to the fact that I was really tired, but also due to the fact that I felt like my life was out of control. Just looking at my house made me feel like I was living in a tornado with too much going on.

To make a long story short, Short Person fell asleep about ten minutes after the baby powder incident and I set to cleaning the house. I do it very methodically starting in the back bedroom and working my way to the kitchen, room by room. The end result is that my house is now clean, with the exception of about five loads of laundry I have to rewash because LJS picked up a gallon of Fabric Softener instead of Laundry Detergent and I didn't notice until he pointed out the error today-- and ew! I just can't wear dirty clothes. They need soap! But I digress...

The end result is that my house is now clean, and instead of the crazy, overwhelmed, bitchy person that ruled the roost for most of the day, I am now calm, happy, and relaxed. It made me wonder... do I rule the house, or does the house rule me?

I'm the same way at work, come to think of it. If the place is a mess, don't talk to me. If my desk is in orderly little piles... I'm probably kicked back and joking with you. Oddest thing.

LOL... or I'm just psychotic and should be committed. Considering how clean and white those rooms are, I'd probably be happier there than any place else in the world.

Psycho am I.