OC, and i don't mean the show on fox
I hate dry skin. At random times throughout the day (some days being worse than others), I have a jittery feeling that is similar to the feeling I had the day after I stayed up all night drinking coffee and studying for a Baptist Heritage test during college. I don’t normally drink coffee, so maybe that was the reason I felt the way I did (or maybe it was because I also listened to the Supertones while I studied, ha ha). Anyway, this jittery feeling I often get is very similar to my whole insides being shaken like a snow globe and is spurred on by many random things: the way something feels on my finger tips, sitting a certain way, even a piece of fuzz or hair on me or furniture or the floor, and I eSPECially get the feeling when writing something by hand and a letter (within a word) doesn’t turn out exactly right. (For example, the “i” isn’t quite connected when writing in cursive.) Yes, you have guessed it, and I have self-diagnosed it: I am (or at least have tendencies of one who is) obsessive compulsive.
I have often wondered if I were tested by a professional would I be diagnosed as oc. I can’t even begin to tell you all the weird things I do—now, I do nothing crazy like wash my hands seven times in a row with scalding water and a new bar of soap each time or turn lights off and on over and over again. No, I am not quite like Jack Nicholson’s character in As Good as it Gets. Thankfully. But sometimes I feel like that is exactly how I am—or pretty close to it. Those who know me really well have heard me describe the mother of all oc things that I have done/presently do: my “counting”/drawing the street signs and light posts (and yellow lines) along the road. I won’t go into detail with that now. My current state of oc will just increase if I do! I just wonder what truly causes my crazy behaviour and what in the world (besides calming down just a wee bit more) I can do to stop it. Is it an insufficient level of serotonin, as experts say? Perhaps hormones or my poor diet and lack of exercise? I found an online chart of eight “symptoms” of obsessions and compulsions on www.ocfoundation.org (no, I’m not kidding about the web address), and I felt like I was reading a descriptive list of myself on several of the items. Counting, ordering/arranging, hoarding or saving…(reading my first post might put things a little more into perspective after seeing these last few words!)
How wonderful, though, that these horrible feelings can disappear in a heartbeat by simply walking outside into the sunshine and breathing fresh air, singing aloud “You are my Stronghold” (by Sons & Daughters) to Him…or with the most wonderful, sensitive kiss of a loving husband. (one husband in particular, that is)
But then the feelings return upon, oh, say, writing about them again?! So before I plunge any deeper into the recesses of my oc nature (and by doing so become a little more oc in the process), it is with a calm heart (and calm fingers) that I write my goodbyes to you for now. that I write my goodbyes to you for now. JUST KIDDING.
Do you know what I love?
Even though my husband and I have only been married a little over two years (2 years, 3 months, 29 days to be exact), we have already set traditions in our small family. I am not even sure these things have been done intentionally, but I relish in them nonetheless.
As my favourite season of the year approaches, I recall the past two annual trips that we have taken to our beloved Eureka Springs. We trekked through a wood that we pretended was our very own when we beheld Pivot Rock. We indulged in ice cream together on a bench outside one of the local shops, despite the cold weather and full bellies. We tripped on a tourist trap, making the dreaded mistake of seeing a certain famous outdoor play, which shall remain unnamed. (The session with “the Potter” beforehand, however, made everything worthwhile. It, unlike the $25/ticket for the play, was absolutely free of cost.) We pitched and stayed in a tent for TWO nights, despite the cold, rainy outdoors and nothing underneath us but a paper thin sleeping bag and a hard ground covered in thick roots. At that same campsite, we continuously fought back the relentless ants in the cooler that held the only food we had brought…someone kept dripping a little whiskey here and there! We ooed and ahhed over the incredible canvas of nature spread before us, including heavenly trees with leaves that displayed colors we only dream about, not being able to keep from praising the Maker because of them. How I love the experiences we have shared and the memories we have made together in that wonderful, quirky town.
Another tradition that brings tears of joy to my eyes is annually going together to the Hunter Christmas Tree Farm. I can almost smell the hay that we have sat upon during the hayrides out to the trees. The taste of the delicious apple cider served free of charge is still on my tongue, cider steaming enough to warm me from the inside out. (Doug, for some reason unknown to me, prefers to partake from a freely offered cup of cold cider!) The thrill is still in my heart of choosing together our very own Christmas tree, and I can almost feel my sore arm muscles from sharing in the duty of cutting our tree from the ground. My mind’s eye has a snapshot of the cozy craft barn, as well as the small treats we have chosen for one another. As difficult a time that Doug always has forcing the tree to stand up straight in the tree stand at home and swearing that we’ll never get another “real” tree, we nevertheless continue to continue our little tradition.
As the years go quickly by, I eagerly wait upon the coming years filled with traditions we will continue and the new ones we will establish and implement. Such life is found in having and carrying on traditions; new experiences are had and new memories are birthed despite doing similar actions year after year after year…
coming out of the closet
last night i tried to start weeding out my closet. although i am "only" twenty-seven years of age, if one were to peer into my closet, he would think he were looking at the clothes of at least a fifty-year-OLD (unstylish) woman. [i would love to have the money to buy nice clothes, and not because i want to be in-style (or even think i could be)...but (unfortunately?) i have noted that what i wear really does have an effect on my attitude and day.]
after last night's attempts to dispose of some old articles, though, i wonder, even if i did have the means to purchase a new wardrobe, would i have the balls to say, "out with the old, in with the new?"
i become way too attached to clothes. i still have a pale pink and grey large-striped cotton dress that i wore when i was probably six years old. now, that is ridiculous. mind you, the dress still hangs in the closet of the room i used to call my own in my parents' home in texas. that, i know, is ridiculous, as well.
all this to say, i could hardly put anything into the garbage bag that i will eventually take to the secondhand store here in town. i struggled with so many articles. some i easily said, "no way" to immediately. others i placed temporarily in the "outta here" pile, knowing in my heart that i would pick them out before shoving them into the dark bag of no return. i just couldn't do it.
as disrespectful and ungrateful, and possibly as arrogant as this may sound, i have come close to wishing for our house to burn and/or blow away so that all the STUFF would go with it. this is horrible, and i really don't (and can't) wish that; i would be swept into a whirlwind of depression if i were to lose pictures, books, letters, gifts, journals, etc. ...but still i long for some type of deep cleaning and massive organization project to take place. a little bit at a time is how i have decided to tackle everything. perhaps by the time i AM fifty, i will live in a clean, "real simple" home. hopefully sooner. (real simple is by far my favourite magazine; it’s truly incredible, refreshing, and inspiring.)
i try to remember to remind myself daily that the stuff of this earth is truly fleeting and will in fact one day be gone forever. i find relief and much joy in knowing that, and cannot wait to be in a Place with no loose hairs (?) and no piles of old bills and pieces of mail, no boxes full of childhood memories, and no closets full of clothes that are too small for me or too big for me and reflect nothing of who i truly am.
