The unattainable thrifty middle-ground

My perfect rug is still sitting on the dirty cement floor of a warehouse-sized thrift store in town. I just can't see myself spending $265 on it. It's super nice and perfect for me, and huge (and yellow!), but that's a month's rent. It's food. It's an African famine, and a broken world.

On the qualifier list for Obsessive Compulsive Personality Disorder (OCPD; not to be confused with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder) are the following:

·       is overconscientious, scrupulous, and inflexible about matters of morality, ethics, or values (not accounted for by cultural or religious identification) 

·       is unable to discard worn-out or worthless objects even when they have no sentimental value 

·       is reluctant to delegate tasks or to work with others unless they submit to exactly his or her way of doing things 

·       adopts a miserly spending style toward both self and others; money is viewed as something to be hoarded for future catastrophes 

·       shows rigidity and stubbornness

American Psychiatric Association. (2000).  Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, Fourth Edition, Text Revision.

Where may hoarders fall? Yup. On this list. Where do I fall? Yup, on this list. Miserly? Okay, so I am poor, so maybe we could take that one out. And my ethical preoccupation is kind of religious, so maybe that one can go as well. But I am definitely unable to delegate, ridiculously stubborn, and unable to discard worn-out or worthless objects.

You may be saying to yourself "Well sure, but you're a thrifter. Those aren't worthless objects." Sure, but when I was moving last month, I came across a drawer of things I'd saved that might/could be used in some artistic endeavor in the far-off future. Well, it was not trash ( I cannot call it trash), but I threw it away, in agony. This is why I wail at the SPCA photos on my Facebook page. "Why has someone thrown this away?" My chest hurts when I think about throwing away the things from that box: old string, wire, springs, used tissue paper-nothing of value!

But sometimes I get so preoccupied with my recycling ethic that I move over into pathology. Friends don't want to tell me that their dog came from a breeder, that they own a pick-up truck, that they eat cheese. And I myself don't know where to draw the line, because it doesn't exist inside of me. I have to project it onto every situation: Will this drain me of energy? Do I really have the time to live with this?

So I don't have a personality disorder, as much as I want to believe that I do. I was sure raised to go in that direction, but by the grace of God go I. Cheers!