My friends and family consistently make fun of my anal retentive ways. I often pow-pow with my designer friends about our frustration with the lack of order in the day-to-day of, well frankly, most people we know. My world professionally and personally must have order. For instance, my husband’s desk is piled high with papers, random articles of clothing and who knows what else. My desk is pristine. It has to be. I can’t work unless everything is in its place.

He sometimes amuses himself by moving objects on my desk ever so slightly, snickering to himself as he watches me subconsciously shift everything back into place when I sit down at my desk again. This same madness carries over into my work. There have been many a night with my husband staring at me with a worried eye as I mumble incoherently to myself; glazed eyes fixed on my screen all the while you can hear my belly growling from down the block because I’ve forgotten to eat, again. I’ve often wondered if this is some sort of anomaly but one only has to delve lightly into the design world to discover the depths of OCD of design. It runs deep people.

It’s a gift and a curse. This is the thought that crossed my mind when I ran across this post on amusingplanet.com about pencil sculptures.

Seriously, think about the obsessive intensity it would take to sharpen each and every one of these pencils just-so to create this piece. It’s beautiful. What we don’t see is the crazy eyed designer who hasn’t showered in days sustaining life on pencil shavings thanks to…drum roll please…the OCD of design. Well, it’s official, I’m not the only one and glad to know it.