So my mama is like, wayyyyyy Type A. Always has been. She’s a supermode perfectionist, planner, doer, attention to detail kind of girl. It’s really quite endearing. I wish I had these qualities for myself. I mean, okay, I’m a bit anal about neatness and organized drawers and color coded closets and logically arranged school notebooks, but that is the extent of my meticulousness. I can take a vacation and not plan a single activity and be completely happy. I can come home from work and do absolutely nothing with the pile of laundry that has been needing to be folded for 3 days, even though there are no pairs of clean socks in my underwear drawer. I can go to the grocery store with no idea of what I’m going to get. I’m okay with that stuff. Rest brings peace. No plans, no worries.
I realized the extent of my Mama’s OCD on a recent trip home to Louisiana to spend a little time with the ol’ fam. It was a chill visit with nothing much to do but hang around the house and fuck off. I was lounging on the sofa when I looked down and noticed these lists….. As I looked closer, I realized what the lists were detailing. Take a look.