When spring threatens to arrive, I usually shift into this mood to change my environment.
Now I don't mean change my mailing address - I mean rearrange my living space.
I mostly have experience redoing small spaces. I suspect my first attempt was rearranging my mother's womb.
If you saw the bedroom I had as a child, you'd know what I'm talking about when it comes to small spaces.
Jail cells are probably bigger.
My bedroom was the dormer room, enough space just barely for a twin bed, dresser and nightstand, and yet I figured out a way to "rearrange" and redecorate when the mood struck.
That bedroom/dormer room was just off the really big bedroom shared by my two older sisters, 10 and 11 years my senior.
I inherited their space when they set off to embark on their own lives, and what a happy day that was when I graduated to that spaciousness.
We're not in Kansas anymore, Toto, I would think to myself, in surveying my surroundings.
I took great delight in what to put everywhere, including on the walls (much to the horror of my parents) and found satisfaction in moving things here and there and wherever whenever I felt a wave of interior designing wash over me.
That decorating desire and rearranging routine followed me through college, where decorating a dorm room seemed big compared to the dormer room of my youth.
Then came a series of apartments that got the Janice makeover time and time again. To this day, I am a rearranger-redecorator, forever a student in the school of thought that says why not move this here or that over there.
Well, I did a recent rearranging and decided among other things that I'm tired of the kitchen clock being where it is, so I moved it.
Oh, what grief I have caught from that single act of anarchy.
It is a relocation challenged by Better Half, who complains that every time he goes to see what time it is, he doesn't know because the clock isn't where it used to be.
Me? I can adjust. I run on a body clock, waking up without any need for an alarm.
I am woman hear me roar - meow!
But if I really want an idea of what time it is, all I have to do is consult my wristwatch, the clock on the microwave, the tick-tock on the stove and the clock in the car.
Divide the total sum accordingly and there you go. A close enough average.
The kitchen clock relocation remains under protest in the Kiaski household.
I haven't decided whether I'll move it back to where it was.
I suppose time will tell.
(Kiaski, a resident of Steubenville, is a staff columnist and features writer with the Herald-Star and The Weirton Daily Times and community editor for the Herald-Star. She cn be contacted at firstname.lastname@example.org.)