DANG. Adele rocks. That is all.

Flashback Friday: And speaking of freaking out

I wrote this blog post in November of 2009.

Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (OCD) can be funny. I admit it. Who doesn't think a syrup phobia is the funniest thing since toaster waffles?* The television show Monk totally captures the humorous side of OCD. Monk is a private detective and consultant for the police department whose OCD both severely limits his life and helps him solve cases. His nonsensical, anal-retentive behaviors get on everyone's nerves, but they also come in handy. (Click on the link above to watch episodes of the show online.)

My own OCD rituals don't enable me to solve crimes, but I like to think they keep us safer and a little more organized. Sure, it's not necessary to check to make sure the windows are locked 4 or 5 times while saying, "This window is shut, locked, and secured, and it's going to stay shut, locked, and secured" each time. I'm sure once--without the narration-- would do the trick. But at least we know we're never in danger from an unlocked window (or door, or stove left on, or...) And perhaps it's not essential to balance my checkbook three (count them, three) times before accepting that the number I came up with might just be correct. But I don't bounce any checks.

At least these current rituals accomplish something. I much prefer them to the ones I had in college. Back then I had to check the seams on my clothes every day. There was no deep, meaningful purpose to that ritual. I was just afraid of being seen in public with a hole in my shirt. I also couldn't have six words to a line when writing college papers (because six was a "bad" number"). I'd actually change the sentence to make it more or less than six words. Oh, and there was my annoying scissor phobia. Yes, I'm probably the only person with two working hands who managed to get through college without using a pair of scissors. I tore paper instead. (Good thing I changed my major from elementary education!) Admittedly funny.

Closely related to the scissor phobia was my fear of someone cutting my hair off. I had long, (bottle) blonde, curly hair--and for a time, I worried that someone would do something to my hair that would necessitate a drastic haircut, or that someone would just reach over and cut it off when my back was turned. I believe the clinical term for that is "hairanoia." (Har har har.) I even recruited my friends to check my hair for me. The funny part about this is that they did it. (Thanks guys!) Ironically, the "cure" for this fear was to...cut my hair short. Huh.

Closely related to that fear was my obsessive concern that my eyelashes weren't even. People, I am embarrassed to admit that I rear-ended someone (in a brand new car, of course) when I was 20 because I was making sure my eyelashes were even in the rearview mirror. In rush hour traffic. Yeah, that's funny. I ain't gonna lie.

My obsessions and compulsions are humorous to me NOW because they're under control. In college I wouldn't have laughed. Back before SSRIs (bless them), I was spending up to 4 hours a day doing my OCD rituals. It felt like torture. It was like my brain was betraying me. I, like other people with OCD, knew the obsessions and compulsions were illogical. People with OCD do the rituals not because we think we're actually achieving something/solving the problem, but because it's the only thing that relieves the overwhelming anxiety caused by the obsessive thoughts. Not doing the ritual leads to more anxiety than the obsessive thought itself causes. And the relief is only temporary. That's why the rituals are repeated over and over. The cycle goes like this:

obsessive thought--->overwhelming anxiety--->corresponding ritual--->relief--->obsessive thought, etc.

One benefit to having OCD is that I am pretty tolerant of other people's eccentricities. Still sleep with a blankie at 35? No problem! Wear kilts instead of pants 7 days a week? So what! Afraid of little people? Pshaw. Have several personalities? Big deal. (See, you just gotta look for that silver lining.)

Well, I'm off to bed! After I lock up, that is...

*In college, I briefly dated a guy who had OCD and yep--a syrup phobia.

Sets, and props, and callings! Oh my!

My son Nature Boy periodically moonlights as Drama Boy.  Musical theater, specifically.  He likes to sing and make people laugh.  He's still an unapologetic lover of pretend at 11 years old, so drama is a perfect fit.  He doesn't particularly like hair and makeup (or wearing tights), but the praise from the audience makes it worth the torture.

Prince Charming

I was a drama kid too. I loved doing musicals, but I had performance anxiety. (I feel you, Barbra Streisand!)  I didn't mind people hearing me, but I didn't want them to look at me.   I still feel that way.  I'm not afraid of messing up--it's more a self-consciousness about being a visible center of attention.  (Which is a little weird since I'm all for being the verbal center of attention.)

Old Hobo Joe

Fortunately, my son doesn't share my stage fright.  He loves performing.  It's a great outlet for his creativity, and as all drama geeks know, it's a place to fit in in a world of spelling bee champs and star athletes.  I'm happy he found drama, but I am far from a stage mom.  No pressure from me.  Hobbies are supposed to be fun, and kids are under enough pressure as it is.

Seriously, this kind of stuff is much more our speed.

P.S. That is NOT me with the wedgie.

And speaking of pressure, I was recently asked to coordinate the set design for Nature Boy's current show.  And when I say "asked" I mean it was proclaimed that God Himself was calling me to do this.  When I replied that I have no experience with set design, I was told in a sweet southern way that, "God doesn't call the equipped.  He equips the called."  Yeah.

***Neurotic Moment***
Have I mentioned that I homeschool my son, co-teach two co-op classes, and take care of my grandmother who has lung cancer and congestive heart failure (among other things)?  And we just moved into a new house two months ago.  Not to mention (okay, to mention) my own health challenges.  Man, having it all here in one paragraph is wearing me out.  How am I going to do all of this?!  What if I just spontaneously combust?!!!!!  My eyelid is twitching now.  Is that a sign of some serious illness?  Because I don't have time for that, y'all.  Deep breath. 
***Return to (Relative) Sanity***

Squirrel/The King

 
So when asked to head up set design I ran away screaming happily answered my call with a yes.  Then I immediately checked with the library for a book along the lines of Set Design for Dummies.  No such luck.  And after that, I freaked out a little.  I don't enjoy going into a project without knowing what I'm getting into.  And truth be told, I don't feel particularly called to do this.  Correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't discernment of a calling the responsibility of the person being called?  I mean, I'm Catholic, so I'm not up on all this calling stuff.  We do stuff out of guilt, plain and simple.