Happiness Is a Clean Counter

When blogging and then social media took off, I used to get irritated at how casually people used the term "OCD" (Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder). "I do this and that because of my OCD,"and so on.

My son was diagnosed with OCD 25 years ago, and for years he was on a powerful anti-psychotic. His has morphed into mostly benign stuff, as long as you don't mind all of the doors in the house being closed and the mirrors turned to face the wall. But it wasn't easy, and wasn't casual. It's not a personality trait; it's a mental illness. Maybe watch The Aviator and figure out if your passion for keeping your loose change organized is the same thing.

But, you know. Language is about communicating, and we all know what you mean when you say OCD. You're not hurting anyone's feelings. I got over myself. It's just hard not to be sensitive when you have a disabled child.

Also? Can you have "a little" schizophrenia, you think? Something else to consider.

My point, though, is that now that we're almost finished with all the fancy new stuff, floors and paint and carpet, oh my, I really can't wait to clean.

I don't have OCD. I'm not even fussy, or at least not since I got married. Trust me. That would be a deal breaker.

I just like the mindless nature of it, so while I clean a counter or mop a floor, my brain can go spinning off wherever and whenever it wants. When I get up in the morning and see dishes left out, along with condiments, etc., I immediately get a dopamine jolt. I have something to do.

I'm not nuts. It can get compulsive, in the sense that eating just one more potato chip is compulsive; there's always something else to clean. I gave up dusting because it's not really fun and it was pointless in this house, but now with all the residual sawdust and other dust-like gatherings around this house, I may have a new passion. There are worse things.

We never have people over anymore. We just developed friendships further away from our neck of the woods, so we're usually the ones doing the traveling. I can't tell you how often I daydream of driving down I-405 toward Renton, heading for dinner at somebody's house.

Maybe again one day, but at the moment, now that we're done shining everything up, we could justify an open house, you think? We could say, Come see our new floors! but really, come see me. The floors are nice but photos work well. I need human beings invading my personal space.

So maybe we'll do that before summer winds down. Open the doors, fire up the grill, put on some music, and hang out with ME.

That's going on the invitation. I'll get a haircut and everything, promise.