I am, or have OCD. Not sure if I have it or it has me. In either case, it's a disease, an infliction, a difficulty, a pain in the tush. Called Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, the typical indications are a bit stronger than what ails me, but I am told I fall into that same category.  Classic textbook symptoms include "Feel the need to check things repeatedly, perform certain routines repeatedly, have certain thoughts repeatedly." That's a wee bit extreme for me. I think. Well, except for the joke that it is really CDO. Hilarious.

My first conscious realization I was OCD was when I would be standing in line at a store, and saw a collection of small stuffed animals, all piled in a bin, waiting to be spotted, scooped up, hugged and given a loving forever home. It made my heart hurt to think the ones at the bottom would not be seen, and started re-arranging them so all of the little critters could peek out and plead to be purchased. Then it was the gum and candy on either side of the checkout line, those tempting little tidbits of joy. If a pack of gum is out of alignment, heaven forbid, or even placed in the wrong place? That just won't do!! I think I would be perfectly happy let loose in any store and allowed to straighten everything I wanted.

So, when did this start? My room was incredibly messy. I mean ridiculously messy. I had a nursery rhyme linoleum floor, and I swear, cross my heart, you could not see one inch of it. Dad once took a picture of my sister's room, as neat as a pin, not one thing out of place, and then took a photo of mine. Total mayhem. My step-father decided he would rein me in, in more ways than one, and got my mother to reluctantly agree I would stay in my room until it was picked up and clean. Three days of pure happiness, I stayed in my room doing whatever I wished. I don't remember Mom sneaking food in to me, but I don't remember being hungry, either. Beating that jerk at his own game was much more important to me than obliging even his smallest wish.  So, I was not OCD as a child.

On my own in my first all-by-myself apartment was a treat I will never forget. It was mine, mine, mine. I am pretty sure it was kept reasonably clean, I had friends over all the time, most of them of the masculine persuasion. There was one night that sticks in my memory. I had spent the day cleaning the entire, one bedroom townhouse, all the way to clean bed sheets. At evening's end, I took a lengthy, extensive shower and exhaustedly popped into bed. That feeling, so clean, lying between clean crisp sheets, looking around at a perfectly sorted room might have been the start.

I will have to ask my children what they remember from their early childhood. I don't remember trying for perfection with kids, silly me, but I remember being exhausted all the time. I absolutely could not understand my child's willingness to drop a jacket on the ground without putting it away. That means you get to deal with that object twice, such a waste of time. Alas, both children are basically slobs. I don't get it, but they say you either follow your parents' example or completely revolt.

It's not easy to be this way!!! It's truly not in my control!!! It takes me everything I own not to straighten the candy at the store, I try to resist cleaning up my husband's desk. Now there is a prime example indicating I might not be terminal; my desk is a shambles. But I know exactly where everything is, too. I am trying my best not to be so needy, not to place too much importance on neatness everywhere. My craft/sewing room is a disaster, so this disease doesn't occupy every single inch of my life. However, the towels must be folded just so and placed in the linen closet such that each towel has only one fold in view. Seriously, I once tried to shove a crumpled towel on a shelf and close the door. I lasted less than ten minutes. Heaven forbid one fork is placed in it's compartment tines down! My spice shelves are organized, but not intensely. Anise and basil are somewhere on the far left, loveage and mint are located generally in the center, and of course, thyme and tarragon are found on the deep right. A serious time saver! Spelling and grammar? Oh, what a load of work, but necessary. And just general writing? I have to force myself not to read over older writings and tweak the wording. It's as difficult concerning my artwork, I always see something that is not quite perfect. I can thank my first serious long term boyfriend, Neil, for this one. I was working on a painting for my college art course. Neil asked me, "If you have one minute to finish, what would you do?" Of course, I proceeded to point out all the little details I was unhappy with, to which he responded that I should simply put down my brush because my work was perfect just the way it was. At that time, age 19 or so, I fought that concept, but thankfully, understood it many years later.

David asks me where the tortillas are, and without looking up, I can easily say, "Top right." A place for everything, and everything in it's place.

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