obsessive. compulsive. disordered.

But I don’t have a problem…

Okay, I do, a bunch, but I don’t have a disorder.

I have quirks. I must have cabinet doors shut. They can’t stay open. I’ll take time to go close them as I leave the room. Just because. I’m not really compulsive; I just like things a certain way.

I’m not obsessive about it. But I do obsess about things that I don’t have power over. Which is most things. So I get upset and frustrated and I like to vent. But that’s not bad.

Is it?

And even though I must have those doors and cabinets closed, I am finding myself overwhelmed with stuff. And everybody else’s stuff. I’m printing out pages and they all look alike. And the printer thinks so, too, because it decides that it’s printed out enough and everyone can just look at the pages on line. Except then the internet decides not to work in the building. And then I have to print out 47 pages. For everyone in the group.


And then I hear things other than my sighs.

I hear other people’s stories. About miserable health battles. And custody battles and impossible exes and tension beyond belief for every moment of their lives, due to…

Well, due to what, exactly?

Due to some amount of bad luck.

But also due to bad marriage decisions. Due to lack of foresight, lack of common sense, civility, kindness, thoughtfulness, courage, respect.

Not to mention a lot of mental illness.

Okay. We can take this.

And we can be grateful in the midst of the chaos.

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