It's the Holiday and My Kids Aren't Here

It's the holiday and my kids aren't here.

No, it's not that kind of post. I wish my kids were here.
The kids not being here means my house is cleaner and more orderly than the house of any parent has a right to be. There are only a few dirty dishes in the sink. The couch blankets are only a little disheveled. But for a pair of socks and a dishtowel, the laundry is clean.

The kids not being here means I worry, now, about those half dozen dishes, the token socks and dish towel. That light layer of dust on the base of the TV. The books that the cat has knocked off the shelf and I have put back on until there is no sense of order at all. Ray Bradbury and Laura Ingalls Wilder sit in uncomfortable silence next to Stephen King, and together they look in puzzlement at Stephenie Meyers and wonder how it came to this.

As clean as everything is, I have the hardest time not doing those tedious tasks. I keep telling myself, "If only I wash up the last few dishes, if only I wash those last few towels, if I stop for a minute and wipe the base of the TV, it will all be perfect."

But it won't.
It will not be perfect.
It will never be perfect.
It is never, ever, perfect.

Those things, they do need to be done, but doing them does not mean they won't need done again.
That something else won't then fail to be up to snuff.
That, and need is such an overused word. Do I "need" to sort out my tea cabinet?
Maybe for my sanity, but the house won't fall into disrepair if I don't do it. Nothing will catch fire if I don't do it. The cats won't notice if I don't do it. The only cabinet they notice is an empty cabinet with a cracked-slightly-open door.
The tea I drink is all near the front, anyway.

And there are other things to do.
I have art that is gathering even more dust than the television set,
cookie-baking ingredients that are fast becoming the first, second, and third helpings of my breakfasts, TARDISes to build, blogs to blog, and an amazing boyfriend whose company I should enjoy while we both have the time to spend.

The question is, "How?"
How do you not OCD people, and maybe more appropriately, how do you completely OCD people stop looking at the state of your silverware drawer and get to the important stuff?
I'm really asking because,
I
don't
know.