Chaz and I were talking about something during the drumming rehearsal – I forget what. Could have been anything, really. Maybe lead sheets.
Anyhow, the point is I said something about being organized in a typically obsessive compulsive way and he just nodded in agreement and kept talking. Because we are equally as insane as each other.
I know I don’t have an actual problem needing medication, but let me just given you two samples of my behavior:
(1) Walking with Elise this weekend she took our street all the way out to the next main North to South block. When she went to turn North, I stopped her and asked, “Where are you going?”
She replied, “To the car, which is north.” And, I said, “No, I can only walk down this street if I’m turning south.”
We proceeded to have a fight about taking the street for the purposes of turning north.
(2) Sometimes in the process of blogging I have an idea about a future post, and I jot it into a blank post as a draft so I can remember it later. However, I absolutely cannot allow posts to go up outside of their numerical order in the database, even though it has no effect on the order they are posted. It just makes my skin crawl. I have literally spent an hour pasting from one draft to another in a daisy chain to make sure I get posts to come out in the right order.
I mention this because the post that is set to post tomorrow was jotted before this post, so it will technically come out of order. It almost physically hurts to acknowledge that in writing. Of course, the number is ultimately meaningless, but once this post is posted there is no going back. Unless I post it into an entirely new post. Which I still might do.
Any time anything I do starts to feel excessive, I just remind myself, Peter, you are not compelled to vacuum your bedroom three times a day, so everything is fine. You still have not turned into your grandmother.