the spectrum

I have had periods in my life where everything in my house was colour coded. Wardrobe, linen cupboard, kids' toys, books, crockery - everything but CDs (alphabetical). I was single, happy, had  more disposable income than I should have (why, oh why did I not save a cent?). It wasn't a matter of needing energy or effort to maintain because I lived alone and it was as easy to put the cerulean teatowel between the cyan and cobalt as it was to put it with the lime, mint and verde.

What I learned when I had kids was that if I wanted a colour coded, everything organised in a manner that I considered perfect life I would have to ship 'em off to childcare. Fulltime. I tried to do it without childcare but that caused a major neurological schism (aka depression) and I realised that sane really was a better way to live than colour coded.

Now I have one colour coded bookshelf and it makes me happy. I also know that if I am reaching into a perfectly organised wardrobe to re-fold and sort clothes that are already folded I am on the brink of another schism. It's my warning signal. Basically, if I start self soothing with a rainbow take me out for coffee and casually interview me using the questionnaire from the Black Dog website, then call my GP.

But I do still love me some order and the best kind of order is the colour spectrum. Now I just look at them, and this one of the Queen's frocks of 2011 cracks me up.