Little Things, OCD?
I am a freak.I am. I am a freak.
I can't help it, it is just how I am. I suspect that I am more than a little bit "Monkish" and am rapidly developing OCD.
Why am I this way?
Why can I not just let the little details slide?
Why is it that I obsess about where Bunny Boop's pacifier and pacifier lid are and the state of their cleanliness? Why is it that I obsess about where the 3 pens that I keep in my purse are?
Why is it that when one of these small items goes on walk-about, I can't find peace in my own head until said item has been recovered and returned to the rightful place? I am a freak! My mind just tosses and turns. Even when it is busy doing something that occupies it like balancing the checkbook or working, the back of my brain is still trying to solve the problem of the missing detail. My mind is on a miniature seek-and-recover mission for a freakin' pacifier cover. Or a turquoise pen. Or the notecard that has my planned list of destinations in order of best traffic flow and geography.
I know that I am this way because of my mother. All of my life she has been losing things: car keys (at least twice per week); mail; important documents like passports, birth certificates, and W-2's; purses; pearls; shoes; etc. When I used to live with her, it was a frequent happenstance that everyone would have to drop everything to ransack the domicile to locate the missing item.
I know that this stressed me out as a child and as a child and adult under my own power I choose to not live this way. I need to have the power over my own life. I will not be late because my keys are AWOL. I have a hook that hangs just inside the door to the garage where my keys are hung each time I come home. My kitchen tools all have a place, though some are more specially placed than others. I keep my purse in the same place inside the house. I keep a list of things that I have loaned out so that I will not forget and spend two days looking for an item! God help you if you move one of these items on me. It isn't pretty to have me coming at you with recriminations that you are trying to drive me crazy. Back away slowly, careful not to startle me.
I just want to say that this craziness in me has only gotten worse since the baby came. Where are her toys? Where are her burp rags. Blankets, socks (damn those slippery little invisible socks), bottle caps, t-shirts, aaarrrrgh!
I need a massage. A massage, a nap, and a pedicure. And for people to stop moving shit around!
Yes, yes. I am a freak. But, admitting you have a problem is the first step toward recovery.
(insert maniacal laughter here)
