“M” Kind of Day

Monday, an expletive to most, madness for me on the Full “M”oon “M”adness “M”onday. It was my “M” kind of day. Do you ever have those? Days that seem to stick out in your memory better then some, more abstract then others.

I have those kinds of days.

Numbers do that to me also.

I am a 222 person, that number does something to me every time I see it.

Just a reflection on something -- I am a counter, a bit of OCPD embedded in my psyche. It isn’t a bad thing. I believe a small amount of Obsessive Compulsive Personality Disorder is a good thing for some people. My OCPD has become less noticeable in my life. After having children, it’s difficult to keep up with the routines we demand from ourselves. I try to repress mine as much as possible. I still find myself wanting to yank the towels out of my husband’s hands when he isn’t folding them correctly, but I suppress it -- realizing that it doesn’t really matter.

I have a friend who is another member of the OCPD Family. I used to watch him with wonder as he worked. Everything in its place, the same way each time, everyday. I asked him about it one day, years ago. He said that, “I do this so I know where things are without worry of finding them. Just one less thing on my list to deal with. I have much more important things to do with my time.” I have to agree with him. I tend to put things in the same place each day so I have no worries about where they will be when I need them, but I didn’t realize I did it until someone else cleaned my house.

That day, it was many years ago, the women who cleaned my house decided that symmetrical alignment of objects was her preference. So she put everything symmetrically on the shelves, the mantel, and the bookcases. When I walked in the door, I was suddenly struck with horror. Things weren’t as I left them. My house had changed and it made me profoundly uneasy. This was when I realized I had OCPD. I immediately went through the house putting everything to rights. It wasn’t until it was finished that I could sit down. There was a flash of insight in that moment; this wasn’t the first time I had felt disturbed by things being out of place. I remembered as a child that I used to line the insides of my drawers where my clothes went. I had taken a ruler and marked out the insides so that each thing had its place. It was order in my chaos, and it started when I was very young.

Mine (My OCPD) isn’t as profound as others are. I know how debilitating this disorder can become. For many they are unable to finish tasks because they believe, “Their idea of perfection,” isn’t being met. I still catch myself in the same situations, taking over tasks from others because they aren’t doing what I would consider a, “Good Job.” I try not to do this often; it makes working with others difficult. I seriously try not to do it with my children. They have enough to deal with now a day without their mother trying to turn them into little perfectionists.

They (my children) have taught me a lot about the need for less perfection. Go ahead, toss your clothes on the floor, don’t wear matching clothes, forks and spoons can go on any side of the plates.

They are great teachers.