I like to think of myself as quirky. Every once in a while I start to worry that my strangeness isn’t so much cute and endearing as a sign of an actual mental illness. But then I come here to the internet and find out that TONS of people are weird! And only SOME of them are crazy! Definitely not more than 60%. The rest of us are fine, really. No need to worry or keep us away from sharp objects and firearms.

So here’s the quirk I’ve found myself facing a lot in the past few weeks – I often suffer through something I dread and hate instead of fixing it, even if fixing it would take almost NO EFFORT.

Exhibit A: When we were still deep in Baby Evan’s constant puking stage (aka the first 6 months of his life) I kept a pile of old-fashioned cloth diapers around as burp cloths. In my stash was one weird cloth that must have come from a box of hand-me-downs. It was too big and not very absorbent and I hated using it AND YET every time I did the laundry I put it back in the pile. This cloth was free. I had 45 other, better cloths. I had no attachment to this cloth. WHY DIDN’T I JUST THROW IT OUT rather than spend so much time dreading the moment it was on the top of my pile?

Exhibit B: I HATE cleaning up the family room and kitchen because cleaning up means I’ll probably have to throw something away and the trash can might be full. MIGHT be full. Or close to full. Or halfway full, which means I’ll have to deal with it soon. This problem could easily be solved by simply taking out the trash…but I don’t want to. I just avoid avoid avoid dread hate worry avoid until E gets fed up with the overflowing trash and takes care of it. If E went out of town for a month I suspect we all might suffocate under piles of garbage. The saddest part is I don’t even have to go outside to throw out the trash – I can reach the cans from our side door – and yet I STILL hate it.

Exhibit C: My underwear drawer is FULL of underwear. I hate almost all of it. AND YET I will put on a pair I KNOW are uncomfortable and wear them all day as if there was a rule saying I must wear every pair at least once before I can repeat. I could easily solve this problem by just throwing away the old/too big/too small/too itchy/too pinchy underwear but I just…don’t. Instead I just dread those pink ones with the flowers that are supposed to be “boy-cut” but really just mean front-wedgie.

Exhibit D: I keep a lot of stuff that isn’t silverware in our silverware drawer. Serving spoons, the baby’s old meshie feeders, bamboo skewers, a jar opener. It makes the drawer hard to open and close because stuff is always getting stuck and every time I’m fighting with it I think “GOD WHAT A STUPID WAY TO STORE THIS STUFF. WHAT KIND OF IDIOT PUT ALL THIS JUNK IN HERE?” And the answer of course is ME. I did it. I continue to put stuff in that drawer and then HATE MYSELF for doing it. Why don’t I just put it one drawer down where there is room and I already keep other, very similar stuff? WHO KNOWS.

Actually, I moved a bunch of stuff to another drawer last week and now every time I open the silverware drawer I think “Wow, I’m a genius! This is so much better!” and conveniently forget it took me FIVE YEARS of living in this house to do it.

OK, now you show me yours.