Everything has its place

You should see my desk at work. What a mess. My house? Omigawd. Please call first before you visit.

My kitchen is a whole different story.

My cupboards are a mess, I'll give you that. But it is an organized mess. I know where everything is, or at least where it should be....

Mr. Frisky just cannot understand that everything in the kitchen must have it's own home. The frying pan goes in the drawer in the stove. The dutch oven goes under the sink. The measuring spoons go in the silverware drawer, in front of the silverware holder thingie.

WHY is this so difficult to understand?

Things are so much easier to find when they are in their place.

Take tonight, for example. Each night, I make my daughter two roll-ups for lunch the following day. I have to grate cheese. In order to grate cheese, one needs a cheese grater. Which begs the question...

Where the fvck is the fvcking cheese grater?!!

I've searched through the whole kitchen. Mr. Frisky is upstairs sleeping soundly. Only he knows where he put it. Of course, I can make do with a sharp knife (on the cheese, of course). But that's not the point. The point is that I have assigned a home to everything in the kitchen, and he just insists on putting things away in the wrong place.

Is he trying to drive me crazy? Then again, why am I letting something like a cheese grater drive me crazy? Am I so psycho that I'm going crazy over a cheese grater? How can I be so insensitive, knowing that all over the whole, people are dying, children are starving, and here I am sitting on my kitchen floor angrily tearing my cupboards apart looking for something that I really don't need.

Is something else out of place in my life and I'm taking everything out on poor sleeping Mr. Frisky and the cheese grater? Are there other....deeper issues? Should I call Dr. Phil?

This is where I go with everything. I take every little event and turn it into self-analyzation. Why do I do this? I'll have to think about that, too.

In the meantime, I still haven't made lunch.