Tanning, Keys and Clocks
Some OCD habits can be helpful, others are just plain nuts.
Obsessive Compulsive Disorders: We all have them, but I have to say that when I saw the tanorexic mom on the news the other night, I was thankful that tanning was not my obsession. I mean, yikes.
I realize now, though, that I have always been a little compulsive and yes, obsessive about certain things. I just never really knew that until I went to college. Living with roommates is a great way to have your faults and kooky habits thrown in your face.
During my dorm room days, it was pointed out to me that I had this crazy habit of making sure my alarm clock was set for the exact time. For example, if I wanted to get up at 6 a.m., the clock had to read 6:00.
If I hit the forward button too long and it ended up as 6:01, I would just keep going around again through a whole cycle, never thinking twice about it. Apparently, in my mind, that extra minute of sleep would just throw off my whole morning.
I eventually grew out of that one, but I think that had more to do with having a child as an alarm clock instead of an actual clock.
My current OCD involves my car keys and is super annoying, even for me. It never fails that even though I know I put my keys into my bag, I will stand in the wind, rain or snow outside my car, digging frantically through my many monster bags (since I can't just carry a small purse) searching for the keys that I had just dropped in there.
It never fails to amaze and irritate me how that clunky set of keys can drop all the way down to the bottom on the bag in under a minute, hiding under receipts and gum wrappers, eluding my searching grasp while I am cursing the fact that I can't just leave my spot and shut my car door.
I blame this new OCD moment on the time I locked my baby in the car. I will always remember that moment of shutting the door and then scrambling for the handle, screaming for a 5-second rule.
Apparently that was a "scarred-for-life" moment since I can still remember staring helplessly through the window at my baby while trying to telepathicly open the door.
This obsessive compulsive habit does have its benefits, I guess, since the likelihood of me ever locking my keys in my car is basically nil.
So, next time you see me struggling in the parking lot, Hartland, throwing around paper and cell phones, just scream at me that I have my keys and to move on already.