A method to my madness
A Reading from the Book of Armaments, Chapter 4, Verses 16 to 20:
Then did he raise on high the Holy Hand Grenade of Antioch, saying, "Bless this, O Lord, that with it thou mayst blow thine enemies to tiny bits, in thy mercy." And the people did rejoice and did feast upon the lambs and toads and tree-sloths and fruit-bats and orangutans and breakfast cereals ... Now did the Lord say, "First thou pullest the Holy Pin. Then thou must count to three. Three shall be the number of the counting and the number of the counting shall be three. Four shalt thou not count, neither shalt thou count two, excepting that thou then proceedeth to three. Five is right out. Once the number three, being the number of the counting, be reached, then lobbest thou the Holy Hand Grenade in the direction of thine foe, who, being naughty in my sight, shall snuff it."
~~~~~~~~~~~
Wash hair, rinse.
Wash face.
Condition hair.
Wash body.
Shave.
Wash body again.
Rinse hair.
Wash face again.
Done.
Same routine, day after day after day. Can't mix it up, makes the day go bad. Well, worse than usual. One time I was running out of warm water before I could condition the hair. I think I left the house without my cellphone that morning. Bad mojo, I'm telling you.
For being as scatterbrained as I really am, I must have a certain amount of orderliness in my life. Control, if you will. I can't control the shit that really matters, so I have to control what I can. Have to. Are you listening to me? I HAVE TO.
Someone else* blogged about their OCD recently, and I wish I would have bookmarked that particular entry. I have visited everybody on my list and have yet to run across it. Ten bucks says I will find it before I'm done with this post, because, you know, I tend to obsess and shit.
I don't think I go overboard with the handwashing, checking the stove and turning off swtiches, not any more than the usual person might. My thing is counting. Ordering, categorizing, odd numbers, that sort of thing. It really isn't all that intrusive, or at least, I didn't think so.
I told Catherine about my M&M ritual, and I'm sure she thought I was just shy of nuts. :)
Have to have just the right number of certain colors, in a specific sequence, or it ruins the whole experience. Now, I ask you, how can someone take something as innocent and pleasureable as eating fucking M&Ms and turn it into a task? Such is my life.
Washing hands in a public restroom? Five pushes on the paper-towel dispenser handle.
Eating french fries? One thin and crunchy to every wide and soft one. Must be every other one sequence. Chex mix really fucks me up. Usually get rid of the pretzels first, they're just a distraction.
I have two sets of dinnerware in my cupboard. Of course they don't match. This means I have to layer my plates and bowls in an every-other design. Or else. Don't ask me or else what, because I really have no clue. Nothing bad has happened to me yet. One time, I went two whole days before I noticed one was out of sequence. I had to fix it.
Generally, it has been ignored, or if noticed, a bit of an amusement for my family. It really doesn't interfere with day-to-day life, and it keeps me occupied. Just little minor things here and there, and there are more than I have mentioned, believe me. It wasn't until a couple of days ago that I noticed I may have a problem.
My biggest "thing" is digital electronics. Oh, how I simply adore the volume control! Must be on 5, 7, 9 or 11. Sometimes 13 or 15 if I'm on the highway. At home, the TV is somewhere between 17-25, odd numbers only. I SAID ODD NUMBERS ONLY. Turn it back.
The Boy, it seems, has picked up on this quirk. I never really advertised it verbally; only a really astute observer would notice my preferences. He would belong in that category, I now presume. We had an unspoken agreement that the driver has control of the radio. Read: Mom. It is mom's car, mom's radio, mom's music choices. Now that the little darling has his driver's permit, and is allowed to sit behind the wheel on occasion, he is under the assumption somehow that he can control the radio. Of all the nerve! Imagine my delight when he insists the radio be set to volume level 6, 8, 10 or 12. I shrewdly try to switch up or down one level, and he tells me, Oh-No... it's my turn now.
At first it was kind of funny. Until I noticed it really wasn't. To me. I started becoming slowly annoyed, and just a wee bit antsy about it. I allow him to listen to his country music, when I'd rather be crankin' the Zepplin. And really, what is one notch of volume, the NUMBER, that is, when I could be more concerned over it being "too loud"...
I convinced myself that the black cat, the idiot who pulled out in front of us, the traffic jam, the running out of washer fluid - was all because the stupid radio was on "8" instead of "9". I was slowly becoming unglued. Quietly, to myself, that is. I mean, why imerse the poor child in my idiosyncrasy? Until the day I noticed I was, indeed, suffering some anxiety about this. Notable anxiety, akin to the begining of a panic attack, which I have managed to avoid for months. Because I'm not crazy or anything. Heh heh. Bleh.
So, I'm letting go of the control of the radio, and turning my organizing skills to something a little more constructive. My closet! And the bathroom cabinets. And the counters. And my desk. Next up: the attic. Maybe the basement, but I'm not going off the deep end, or anything. Yet. The basement may just have to wait. I'll be there soon enough.
So. Share with me. What weird little habits do you have? Admit it, you have something to divulge. Lie down on Julie's little couch of confession. I'm listening.
*(Edited - Found it! Hi, Rach!) :)
Then did he raise on high the Holy Hand Grenade of Antioch, saying, "Bless this, O Lord, that with it thou mayst blow thine enemies to tiny bits, in thy mercy." And the people did rejoice and did feast upon the lambs and toads and tree-sloths and fruit-bats and orangutans and breakfast cereals ... Now did the Lord say, "First thou pullest the Holy Pin. Then thou must count to three. Three shall be the number of the counting and the number of the counting shall be three. Four shalt thou not count, neither shalt thou count two, excepting that thou then proceedeth to three. Five is right out. Once the number three, being the number of the counting, be reached, then lobbest thou the Holy Hand Grenade in the direction of thine foe, who, being naughty in my sight, shall snuff it."
~~~~~~~~~~~
Wash hair, rinse.
Wash face.
Condition hair.
Wash body.
Shave.
Wash body again.
Rinse hair.
Wash face again.
Done.
Same routine, day after day after day. Can't mix it up, makes the day go bad. Well, worse than usual. One time I was running out of warm water before I could condition the hair. I think I left the house without my cellphone that morning. Bad mojo, I'm telling you.
For being as scatterbrained as I really am, I must have a certain amount of orderliness in my life. Control, if you will. I can't control the shit that really matters, so I have to control what I can. Have to. Are you listening to me? I HAVE TO.
Someone else* blogged about their OCD recently, and I wish I would have bookmarked that particular entry. I have visited everybody on my list and have yet to run across it. Ten bucks says I will find it before I'm done with this post, because, you know, I tend to obsess and shit.
I don't think I go overboard with the handwashing, checking the stove and turning off swtiches, not any more than the usual person might. My thing is counting. Ordering, categorizing, odd numbers, that sort of thing. It really isn't all that intrusive, or at least, I didn't think so.
I told Catherine about my M&M ritual, and I'm sure she thought I was just shy of nuts. :)
Have to have just the right number of certain colors, in a specific sequence, or it ruins the whole experience. Now, I ask you, how can someone take something as innocent and pleasureable as eating fucking M&Ms and turn it into a task? Such is my life.
Washing hands in a public restroom? Five pushes on the paper-towel dispenser handle.
Eating french fries? One thin and crunchy to every wide and soft one. Must be every other one sequence. Chex mix really fucks me up. Usually get rid of the pretzels first, they're just a distraction.
I have two sets of dinnerware in my cupboard. Of course they don't match. This means I have to layer my plates and bowls in an every-other design. Or else. Don't ask me or else what, because I really have no clue. Nothing bad has happened to me yet. One time, I went two whole days before I noticed one was out of sequence. I had to fix it.
Generally, it has been ignored, or if noticed, a bit of an amusement for my family. It really doesn't interfere with day-to-day life, and it keeps me occupied. Just little minor things here and there, and there are more than I have mentioned, believe me. It wasn't until a couple of days ago that I noticed I may have a problem.
My biggest "thing" is digital electronics. Oh, how I simply adore the volume control! Must be on 5, 7, 9 or 11. Sometimes 13 or 15 if I'm on the highway. At home, the TV is somewhere between 17-25, odd numbers only. I SAID ODD NUMBERS ONLY. Turn it back.
The Boy, it seems, has picked up on this quirk. I never really advertised it verbally; only a really astute observer would notice my preferences. He would belong in that category, I now presume. We had an unspoken agreement that the driver has control of the radio. Read: Mom. It is mom's car, mom's radio, mom's music choices. Now that the little darling has his driver's permit, and is allowed to sit behind the wheel on occasion, he is under the assumption somehow that he can control the radio. Of all the nerve! Imagine my delight when he insists the radio be set to volume level 6, 8, 10 or 12. I shrewdly try to switch up or down one level, and he tells me, Oh-No... it's my turn now.
At first it was kind of funny. Until I noticed it really wasn't. To me. I started becoming slowly annoyed, and just a wee bit antsy about it. I allow him to listen to his country music, when I'd rather be crankin' the Zepplin. And really, what is one notch of volume, the NUMBER, that is, when I could be more concerned over it being "too loud"...
I convinced myself that the black cat, the idiot who pulled out in front of us, the traffic jam, the running out of washer fluid - was all because the stupid radio was on "8" instead of "9". I was slowly becoming unglued. Quietly, to myself, that is. I mean, why imerse the poor child in my idiosyncrasy? Until the day I noticed I was, indeed, suffering some anxiety about this. Notable anxiety, akin to the begining of a panic attack, which I have managed to avoid for months. Because I'm not crazy or anything. Heh heh. Bleh.
So, I'm letting go of the control of the radio, and turning my organizing skills to something a little more constructive. My closet! And the bathroom cabinets. And the counters. And my desk. Next up: the attic. Maybe the basement, but I'm not going off the deep end, or anything. Yet. The basement may just have to wait. I'll be there soon enough.
So. Share with me. What weird little habits do you have? Admit it, you have something to divulge. Lie down on Julie's little couch of confession. I'm listening.
*(Edited - Found it! Hi, Rach!) :)
posted by Julie at 1:44 AM
9 Comments:
Mine is cleaning. I clean my house or something in my house daily. Drives my husband crazy. He will ask me everyday why can’t you just come home one day and relax. Then with my dished or silver wear there has to be a complete set. If a piece gets broken or lost I must get a new complete set. So needless to say we do our best in my house not to break or lose anything so we don’t have to go and get new ones. I have a few more but will leave it at that. I have been told I have mild OCD but don't believe them. I just like things net and in order.
Well here was I, smugly thinking I have no OCD type habits when I realise it is between 11pm and midnight. Huntin' time.
Every night in the summer (which is most of the year here) I go bug hunting. Before I go to bed, I make sure everything that flies, nibbles or crawls has had a blast from my magic can. I go around the house in a certain way 3 times. And then bed. Oh the joys of the tropics and old houses!
We HAVE got to get together. I adore Monty Python!
But, wait a sec, you say just "shy" of nuts? Mmmmm, actually I can make that work to my advantage as I love messing with one of my co-worker's OCD. I sneak into her office and move things. She knows it's me and she takes it all in good humor, but it sure is fun to see the look on her face as she realizes something is amiss. Is that wrong?
Yes.
:-)
But it is funny.
i'm truly afraid i have you all beat:
1. i can't take a shower or swim unless i have freshly brushed teeth
2. when i make pasta, if one piece comes out of the strainer, i have to take another piece out. they have to go in pairs.
3. when i use the bathroom at home, my feet have to be in the bathroom mat.
ugh. i need therapy.
I thought nothing strange about the M&Ms. In fact, if you'll recall, I completely agreed with you...though I disagree on the pattern. And all volume has to be on an even number in my house. (See, you're not as nuts as you thought.)
In other weirdness...I can not leave the house without wearing my engagement ring. I have turned around and gone home (several miles) to get it if I've forgotten.
I must delete voicemail messages after listening to them. They cannot sit in my voicemailbox after I have listened to them one time.
Nothing major...just the little quirks that make me special.
My dh is the OCD one in the family, he is like ajw5403 -- comes home and *immediately* finds something to clean. The house can be clean as it ever gets and he will still find *something* -- he will go out of his way to search for it. It drives me crazy and it is getting worse with age. The effect has been that i go the other way (see recent post about my office), and even things which used to bother me to no end now don't bother me at all (like, people who use the flip-top cap on the toothpaste, because it gets all gummy and gross)
i *wish* someone in this house was ocd about cleaning!
i don't think the snackfood thing is ocd - it's just about commonsense, and a sense of symmetry. all bags of m&ms must be divided by color and then apportioned into exactly evenly-matched servings. ditto for chex mix or any other polluted food. to do otherwise would be just sloppy.
I don't know if this qualifies as an OCD thing, but I always have to have a napkin in my hand. After I eat, fresh napkin to play with. If I don't have it, I get kinda jittery. It's not used for cleaning the Little Man's nose (I have seriously turned the car upside down just to find another napkin for his face) or wiping something, I just have to play with it. My hubby says it's sick- I guess it is an OCD thing. Mostly what i do with it is fold it until I get a pointy corner and play with the corner...
and I recently found out my father(whom I didn't grow up with) has this same quirk...
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