Care Factor

I have a slight case of OCD. It’s a diagnosis that I had never even contemplated before I received it. Remember Jack Nicholson in “As Good As It Gets”? Remember how he had to lock the doors multiple times, couldn’t step on cracks or lines and was a full-on germaphobe?? That’s the image I get when I think OCD. Well it used to be, anyway. Mine is a little more subtle – others might simply call it being a pain in the ass, but I do have a doctors note to prove that this shit is mental medical.

And just so you know – the things that bother you about me, bother me a whole lot more!

I really do wish that I could sit comfortably watching TV knowing that the volume is on an uneven number, but I can’t. Even numbers all the way, baby! Unless it’s a five. That’s acceptable because it’s half way to a nice round number. And doubles. Double uneven numbers are okay, preferable even: 35 is acceptable but it ain’t no 33! 37 will cause my eye to twitch and 39 is just plain lazy and wrong –  why wouldn’t you go to 40?!? Hmm, well it makes sense to me!

Eating is no picnic either. I’ve never been able to enjoy anything I’ve eaten from a soup spoon. The shape just feels so wrong in my mouth. I remember my aunty (whom I idolised) rolling her eyes at my mum getting me a different spoon after a mini-meltdown over cutlery. I remember wishing I could just put the stupid spoon in my mouth without wanting to cry, but I couldn’t. I still can’t.

I know a lot of kids don’t like the different foods on their plate to touch. I get it. Most things are okay, but there are some absolute no-no’s as far as I’m concerned. For example: side salads are just that – they go on the side! Please don’t put my hot food on top of, or touching my salad. The last thing I want to eat is warm, limp lettuce. And while we’re at it, let’s talk about sauce. It’s not glitter, you don’t have to sprinkle that shit everywhere! Don’t get me wrong, I like a good sauce as much as the next person. But when the sauce hits the salad, the shit hits the fan!

Speaking of salad… Can I just say to all the chefs out there, coleslaw is not salad! If you serve this slop with your meals, I will leave your restaurant! I’m not even kidding – I made my whole family walk out of a restaurant just yesterday because they served everything with coleslaw. This bothers me on so many levels. In my opinion, coleslaw is a crime against cuisine. I might be (a little bit) more okay with it being served in a dingey pub with cheap counter meals, but when you are charging $35+ for a steak you should really plate it with something that does not resemble regurgitation. **(Having just read this paragraph back, I realise that this particular quirk really just sounds like the behaviour of a spoilt brat, so I feel the need to clarify further – it’s not just that I don’t like coleslaw. I can stand to be around lots of things I don’t like. This is different. The very sight of slaw makes my eye twitch. The smell makes me nauseous and seeing someone eat it makes me physically ill. I can’t explain it, it’s just how it is.)

There are so many others, too. Separately they might be cute little quirks, but put them all together (and throw in some other fun ingredients like bipolar type2, anxiety disorder and dermatillomania) and you’ve got yourself a bona fide head case.

I wish I cared about things that mattered or were actually useful/normal. Like the cleanliness of my car. Or, removing the 3 day old stale packet of crisps from my work desk. Or, exercising. 😉

 

 

 

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