Carys Weldon Blog
Thursday, June 29, 2006
Obsessive Compulsive Disorder
I am an obsessive compulsive person. I used to be nuts over cleaning house. Like, I'd vacuum and then sit down on the floor and pick up little lint balls or whatever that my very good, expensive vac didn't get. I went through more vacs than I can count because I kept thinking I'd find one that would get those little tiny things.
I also used to clean the toilet, literally, every time I went in the bathroom. And bleach mopped every non-carpeted surface in the house 3-4 times a week. Yeah, that's a bit much, isn't it?
Well, I got over some of it. I redirected my ocd tendencies. Now, I sometimes sit at the computer from 6 a.m. to 2 or 3 a.m.--writing, researching, reading. Whatever. (Ignoring the piling up inside my house.)
I had a house cleaning relapse about two or three months ago. (sounds good, doesn't it? Biut no, it wasn't.) I thought--I'm gonna clean the kitchen properly. I spent all day on one cabinet door. ALL DAY. Q-tip cleaning it. Bleach washing it. So, the rest looked awful, but that one was spotless.
Of course, when my husband came in and said, "What did you do today?" Then looked around and saw...he warily asked, "Hon, are you all right?"
I winced and said, "I needed to clean something."
Now, a quick pickup across the board would have been much more reasonable. Even a pretty thorough cleaning--since I spent all day. But, no. I've got cobwebs in corners now. Dust on the ceiling fan. A/C filters that need cleaned. Books stacked up that need shelved or boxed or something. Lots of things that would have made the whole house better in short order. Heck, I could have cleaned the kitchen counter where the mail/magazines pile up. But, no.
He took me out of the house. Got me away from that scary cabinet door.
Okay, so knowing that history of me...
We were talking about this whole ocd thing. My husband doesn't get it. He says, "Don't tell me you're obsessive compulsive. If you were, you'd do it on all things." Then, he asked, "You don't hear of people obsessive compulsive about, say, giving their husbands favors."
I tipped my head, squinted and asked, "Uh. You don't get it, do you?"
He said, "Yeah, I do."
"You can't pick the area you obsess over. It just happens."
"If you can redirect to ocd with that computer, you could redirect to ocd about me."
"I am obsessed with you. Don't you read my blog?!?"
His turn to tip his head and squint at me. He is my biggest lurking fan. He censures me if I don't put enough about sex on here--says I'll bore you all with my mundane conversations, or if I get too serious, like when I mentioned abuse. Says no one wants to be depressed by a blog. And, I guess he's right. But I like to talk about issues that are real.
"And didn't you notice that I cop more feels off of you than any, no--ALL--the women we know put together do to their husbands/men? You are touched a million times more, buddy. I can't believe you didn't notice."
"You could touch more."
So, of course, I squint at him again. No comment...for several seconds. Then, I said, "I'm gonna touch you. And next time, you'll know know it. I think I touch you so soft and so often that you've stopped registering it."
Yeah. I was thinking about knocking him in the head.
But then my mind went to...the grocery store yesterday. He steps up behind me and I automatically reach back, cop a feel. Check the package. Not that I have to. He rubs against me, reaches past me. Asks, "Do we need something here?"
I tip my head, staring at the pickles. Or whatever. "Nope. I think I'm covered." Then, the wicked woman in me says, "But I think I need to go to the produce section."
"For what?" He backs up, thinking the momental tease is over.
I spin, walk away and flip over my shoulder, "I need a cucumber and maybe some bananas."
Conversationally, he steps in beside me. He asks, "What ya gonna do with them?"
I just laugh.
I don't do weird things with fruit or vegetables, but for some reason any mention of those makes him think...well, you know.
Now, I'm gonna go eat a banana and tease him.
You! Go get a banana. Eat it in front of the man you like, or have--whatever. Or a stranger on the street. Make love to your banana with your lips. Pause a lot. Give the guy some up and down glances.
Get yourself some attention. He'll be thinking you're sexy and ya don't have to do anything but build your potassium level.
We should become the banana club. Eat them everywhere. Women will think we're health nuts, or trying to get healthy. But we'll know we're doing an experiment on men...how easy it is to turn them on.
Now, I have a banana to peel. Talk at ya later.
(Yes, I consider it foreplay.)
Posted by CarysWeldonblog ::
8:14 PM ::
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just got back from the store with a bunch of really big bananas . . . oops really big bunch of bananas.
I have to say it. You're right. He's wrong. You honestly cannot select what you OCD over.
This courtesy of a psychiatrist who works with us from time to time (and admits to her own OCD-ness.)
Thanks for backing me up on that, Jen.
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