I don't know how I became such an anal person.
It's scary actually, to think that when I started writing the CR, that I honestly thought that I would craft, and mold a work of staggering genius. After all, a book--as it once seemed to me--was just a collection of well organized thoughts. But then I realized something.
I'm not that organized.
Yet, some how I'm picky in the kind of way that calls for random order.
Example: All of the bathrooms in my house have to be clean. I'll even clean my parent's room for fun (or favorite child points, but either way).
My room on the other hand, is an obstacle course of abandoned clothing, designed to keep me fit, and confused.
It may seem like I'm going off focus, but the point is (if you didn't think I had one) is that life is filled with contradictions and things that happen for reasons you don't think even God could explain. Like writing a book, no matter how hard you try to come out with a perfect product, because you've been told that perfection is the key of life, it's not going to happen. Overthinking, trying to go above and beyond--not bad things. But evaluate the costs.
So try not to be tedious. Because as you look at your final draft, whether it be in life or your novel (pick the novel!) you will notice how flawed, cliched it is or was, sadly. You'll wonder if the time you spent on it was worth it.
But above all, you'll appreciate it. And there's some peace in that.