Image Details: ‘organized threads’ by jenni waterloo, via Flickr.
I have an inbuilt hatred of being Too Organised. Despite my military background, which you would think would have forced me into being a bit more regimented after several years of loyal service to Queen and country, I find the whole concept of getting things organised to the nth degree suffocating. That is not to say I am a massively disorganised person, because believe it or not I do have a plan (yes, I can hear the wails of protest from here, but stick with me people – especially you, Sal and Kate!) it’s just in my head. I am one of those people whose husband, a lovely gentleman with an acute case of OCD, despairs at them, because my ‘guff’ – books, knitting, general notes and paperwork – is dotted in little piles around the house instead of being put away Nice and Neatly In Its Place. I defy his pleading cries to tidy up, because in my mind this is tidy. I don’t lose things. Ask me where anything is in my house and I can take you straight to it. Granted, it might not be in the most obvious place to most people, but I know where it is. This, I feel, is more important than having stuff neat but not knowing where you have put it so neatly.