I am the asshole that rearranges the dishwasher. I‘m a perfectionist that doesn’t know when to quit, I could devote years working on one skull if it was up to my brain. Just when I think it might be done, “oh these beads would look really nice there.“ Compromise is not an option; it’s my way or the highway. Nothing is worse then my family saying it looks fine when I think my house is a mess. Sometimes I wish my kids would have gotten just a touch of my perfectionism, just a smidgen, then maybe I wouldn’t have to search for dirty dishes. It’s a blessing and a curse; it creates awesome bead-work, but I wish I could walk past that damn dishwasher.