[ too old for compulsive ]

In a just world, OCD would be a young person’s disorder. They’re energetic and motivated, fully equipped to handle unrelenting coercion. I’m tired and trending toward dormant.

Yesterday, however, I stirred myself just enough to knock the coffee pot off the counter. The one that came with the coffeemaker. A glass disco ball of a thing. It did just what you’d expect; it exploded on impact. An explosion on the order of the Big Bang. Particles flew everywhere. Galaxies were created. A brand new firmament of twinkly, spangled stars spread before me. I didn’t feel godlike, I felt put upon. 

Twenty minutes of intense effort is manageable. Even an hour is doable — bitterly resented, but doable. Four hours, the usual time frame for grand scale cleanups, is a bitch. A domineering, overbearing bitch. My shoulders slumped, my chin dropped to my chest, a weary sigh escaped, and I wondered if it wouldn’t be easier to move. But I have OCD. I’d no choice, I’m a slave to my compulsions, so I set about restoring order to the ugly, shattered universe I’d just created.

I swept and I vacuumed. I vacuumed and I swept. I wet Swiffered. I dry Swiffered. I scoured the countertops. I scoured the dog’s bowls. Then I started over. Three times.

For the finale, I shoveled the whole mess into a shoe box, sealed it shut with packing tape, and escorted it to the dumpster for a private burial. I wasn’t gentle and my eulogy was a gush of profanity.

I won’t unclench for a week. Or attempt to make coffee. Or do much of anything besides wonder how it feels to be laidback. Is it wondrous? I bet it’s wondrous. I have a good imagination, you know, but I can’t imagine not feeling whelmed at the sight of dog fur or dirty laundry or the unkempt magazines in a book store.

Tell me, what’s it like to be normal? Pleeeeze, help me out here. Paint a picture of well—adjusted for me. Let me live vicariously.

copyright © 2023 the whirly girl

7 responses to “[ too old for compulsive ]”

  1. Sadly, I know that three weeks from this event you will be sitting/standing somewhere and the light will hit a sparkly on your floor from a certain angle and you will find another bit of glass. For me this has been going on since January when HeWho dropped a glass bowl.
    On another note, they should have some kind of exchange program for people and their coffee makers. We have a perfectly good pot but the brewer part on the pot side conked out last week. There are probably all kinds of people with various pieces in working order. How about a giant coffee pot swap meet.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Ooh, a coffee pot swap meet. I like that idea. The brewing part was fine, in good working order, but useless without a carafe. However, replacing the carafe would’ve cost more than buying a new coffeemaker. So I bought the coffeemaker. What a waste.

      In other news, I’m still on the lookout for sparklys, but all clear so far. I’ve even gone barefooted — with no bloodshed. That’s scary.

      Liked by 1 person

  2. I regret that I cannot help you; I suffer from the same and am traumatized just by your telling this story 😱

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Aw, thanks. It’s exhausting, isn’t it?

      I’m curious, has your OCD gotten worse as the country spins increasingly out of control? Or does it get worse as we age? Either way, I can’t fix either one, so I’m stuck. Dammit.


  3. Wonderful! I hereby nominate this for the ‘best blog post of the year’ award. (There is one, isn’t there? Or is my imagination running away with itself?) Oh, and commiserations for the shattered coffee pot.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. You’re the kindest, most knowledgeable man I know and I don’t believe you for a second :o) Your comments have become my guideposts in this long, bumpy experiment, though. Without them, I’d be lost. Thank you❣️ Now, onward and upward 🤞


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