This Lady’s Nuts!

I am a Christian, and I have a sense of humor. Bet you never thought you’d see those 2 things in the same sentence, did you? I’m capable of being serious from time to time, though, especially with controversial topics, or those that I’m overly emphatic about, as you’ll see in a few of my writings. For the most part, though, I’ll try to elicit a chuckle or 2 out of anyone that cares to read my ramblings.

I’ve decided at this stage of life that laughter is far more appealing than other alternatives. Let your freak flag fly, I say, as long as it stays within the realms of legality. My daughter likes to say, “Mom, you’re so immature.” I love her a little more each time she says it. Life’s too short to suppress your insanity. Your head might explode if you do. My family likes to tell me that this same thing will happen if I continue to stifle my sneezes, which I usually do so that I won’t pee my pants. Hey, don’t judge. Any woman that’s ever had her bladder used as a punching bag through the miracle of pregnancy knows what I’m talking about. Allergy season is like a stroll through the valley of the shadow of death. I’ll stop in mid stride and cross my legs when a sneezing fit hits me. My daughter refers to this as “assuming the ‘mom stance’”.

I’m also a poet, too, and yes, I know it. This talent will likely rear its lovely head from time to time during our new found relationship together.

‘My OCD diaries’ happens to be more than just a fun name for my loony linguistics. I really do suffer from said mental illness, which, after several years of marriage, my husband still doesn’t fully understand why I can’t just shut off like a running faucet. I have made strides of improvement in certain areas over the years, though. Even he can’t deny that.

Now, it’s not your usual hand washing until they bleed, repetitive counting, checking and rechecking, need to eat a spoonful of paste every hour and 17 minutes so that my 5^th cousin twice removed won’t die in a tragic car accident version of the disease that you usually hear about. Instead, it’s more of an anxiety fueled need to live in a house so spotless that I could call it a museum and charge admission. I wouldn’t dare, though. Houseguests make me nervous.

You could literally eat off of my floors. I wouldn’t advise it, though. Not if you’d prefer to keep me from suffering a psychotic break, anyway.

We don’t use the sinks in my house. Water spots have a tendency to throw me into nervous fits. Dust? No way. Not on my watch. Loose hair? Forget about it. It gives me the heebie jeebies, which is a tragedy in and of itself considering that my very vain daughter has this flowing mane of long, red hair that she likes to brush often…and all over the place. I’ll walk into a bathroom and die a little on the inside after she’s been there, because it will resemble the aftermath of a Wookie reunion. That’s about the time my inner Yoda says, “Clean it again, I must.”

I also have this thing with perfect symmetry. Don’t skew things. Not in front of me. Oh, the humanity. Line them up, please. Make them match. My fragile state of mind depends on it.

Vacuum lines across the carpet? Yes, please. Make them perfectly straight. Then, just don’t step there… ever again. Sprout wings and fly over if you have to, but for Heaven’s sake, don’t mess up the carpet lines. Wear socks in the kitchen, too. I don’t want to see your foot prints on the shiny tile. And if you open the refrigerator, use the back of the handle. I don’t want to see your fingerprints, either. Same goes for the microwave.

Never use the flat top stove. You might scratch it or burn something onto it. I’ll have none of that. Oh, and for the love of peace, stay out of the living room. My couches are currently serving as a shrine to the element of air. I might literally just shrivel up and die if you go in there.

I can laugh at myself because I know that somewhere in the back of my mind it’s all very ridiculous, but that still doesn’t change the anxiety attacks of epic proportions that I suffer from if things aren’t ‘just so’. Each and every person has their own quirks, eccentricities, and vices, though, and is somewhat crazy in their own special way. I just happen to be overly umm…special.