All Or Nothing

Fabulous Moments In OCD

I am supposed to be meeting my group for dinner. Actually I have to go home, meet HG, and then meet everyone for dinner. We ran a little late at the store because my last customer wanted to make sure that she saw every single earring we carry, because what if the champagne color wasn't perfect?  What if this other pair is better?  Maybe it would be better to just bring the dress in to match.  Maybe it's a CHAMPAGNE STUD EARRING, LADY!  The easiest color in the world to match.  Anyway. I need to leave. 

And yet, I stay.  I sit here in my office, looking out my tiny little two-way mirror (yes, I am like CIA for real!) and stare forlornly at the storefront.  As much as I want to leave, as much as I want to just walk through my shop, out the front door, and straight into my car, I know that I can't do it.  No matter what logic I apply to the situation - does it really matter?  who is gonna notice?  you won't think about it later, I promise! think of all the other things you'll be doing that will distract you! As much as I want to believe myself, the truth is that I am one big fat liar.  I can't leave this undone.  But the task that lies in front of me, the only thing that will allow me to actually leave, is too daunting to begin.

Every hanger in my entire store has to be turned the same way.  Every single tag on every single piece of clothing has to be sticking out at the same place.  And every hanger has to have the same exact distance between it and its neighbor.  I would estimate this distance to be about 1/4".  I have never taken a ruler to the racks, but I would venture to guess that if I did, I would only be off a fraction here or there.

Because I'm good like that. 

Or, because I'm insane.

But either way, I cannot leave until it's done.  Cannot.  Can. Not.

What a romantic!

There is an earring laying on the left side of the fifth step leading up to our apartment.

This earring has been laying there for at least a week. It is red, silver, and rectangular. It looks like this:

I look for the earring every time I go up the stairs, and every day, it's there. Last weekend, I started a conversation with Cody that started like this:

"Hey, somebody turned that earring on the stairs over, and now I can't see the red anymore,"

"Earring? Did you lose an earring?" he replied.

I realized that I, as usual, was operating under the assumption that everyone noticed EVERYTHING the way that I do, and explained the earring situation more thoroughly to Cody. He listened carefully, laughed a little bit, and said, "I bet that really bothers you that it's turned over, then." I agreed, and then he told me how crazy I was, gave me a hug, and we went on our way.

Not two days later, the earring was turned over to the red side again. Cody swears he didn't do it, but I have my suspicions.

Up AND Down

I used to go up to my room so that I could stand in front of my big bay windows with the pink mini-blinds, stare at the street below me, and lift my window seat lid up and down, up and down, up and down, up and down.  I think I did this in order to alleviate some sort of pressure that had built up in my 10-year old mind, pressure that just wasn't being released anywhere else. 

I remember one time specifically in front of my windows.  My parents had gone to a holiday party, leaving us with a babysitter, and thereby leaving me in a state of subdued panic.  I always wondered if they would make it back alive, picturing the streets they were driving on as some kind of war zone, with drunks pulling out from the side streets crazily, and criminals waving guns on every corner.  In my mind, it was a complete miracle that my parents car EVER made it back to the turnoff to our street, and when I would see the suburban's headlights, I would let the window seat lid slam shut as I jumped into bed, my heart racing, my eyes squinched closed, attempting to appear "naturally" asleep. 

On this particular evening, the holiday party was keeping my parents out exceptionally late (by my timetables, anyway) and I was in distress.  The window seat had been opened and shut so many times that the hinges were starting to creak, and I was sweating so profusely in all my imagined scenarios of parental death that I was actually starting to feel weak.  About 10pm I started to cry, and could not stop the violent, silent shaking of my sobs until, after an ETERNITY, I saw those yellow-tinted headlights cast their familiar glint onto our mailbox.  As usual, I let the window seat lid drop as I hurriedly clambered into bed, but all my attempts to look asleep and angelic were severely challenged by the aftershock sobs and shudders of my cry-fest.  I knew my parents were home, I knew that somehow they had survived the odds and made it back alive, but nothing could console me enough to appear peaceful.

This situation was NOT acceptable to me, as I had always taken great pains to make sure that neither my parents, nor my brothers, nor any of my babysitters ever knew of my window seat vigils.  If my parents came upstairs to check on me, as they always did, and saw that I had been CRYING, of all things, then they would know!  What they would know, whatever intrinsic thing they would immediately surmise after seeing my tear-stained face I have no idea of, but what I did know at the time, and what I still know today is that it was VERY IMPORTANT to keep it all hidden.  Because if they knew, if anyone really knew, then they would Not Understand, and what is worse than that?

Luckily enough, I had legitimately made myself sick with all my window seat opening and closing and made-up death traps and ceaseless panicked sobbing, so my parents just took my temperature and determined that I was upset because I had a fever.  And that was that. 

Of course now I know that situations like those are caused by OCD, and I can therefore handle them a little better, or at least FEEL better because I know what is happening.  But the thing that never goes away is that feeling that No One Will Understand, and that is largely because no one ever does.  I am, for the first time, allowing someone else to see it all, or at least most of it, and so far he has done the most amazing job of trying to Understand.  Sometimes I drive him completely crazy and then push him even further away out of fear that I might be driving him crazy, what if he thinks I'm crazy, what if he knows?  But he's really patient with me, and I could never explain what it means to be totally HONEST with someone like that, to be completely REAL, and to know that they will never love you any less, no matter how many sheets you tear off the bed, no matter how many times you check to MAKE SURE the alarm clock is really on, no matter how many chicken breasts you pull apart and then discard because "I think it's kinda pink- right there, see?".

Thank you, O Patient One.  You are helping me more than you will ever know. 

And I thought I WAS Roughing It

San Ann Tone was much fun.  We have a lot of pictures, too, and I am very excited to post them all on here for your viewing pleasure.  However, we are all at the mercy of Cody, who has demanded that he be given a Job On The Computer, and is therefore in charge of titling, captioning, and posting all our pictures in a neat little slide show.  He and I agreed on this in the car on the way back, but as the evening progressed, and the pictures were NOT getting titled, captioned, OR posted, I decided to take matters into my own hands, and began the process.  That is until Cody found out what I was up to, at which point I was gently reprimanded and told to "stop being such a freaking control freak".  I thought this was rude, but decided to be the bigger person and am leaving everything in Cody's hands.  Very trustingly.  And not at all controllingly.  NOT EVEN KIND OF.

When the pictures are up (NOT that I CARE or am IMPATIENT about the timing of this actually happening) you will notice a shot of a hotel bed with white sheets and no blankets.  As relatively mundane as this shot may seem, please do not be deceived.  And also please do not harbor any thoughts of a sexual nature regarding this picture.  The photo was not taken for such purposes, and any such thoughts should be directed towards someone else entirely.  Try Paris Hilton; I hear that her porn tape is now on sale at most magazine stands across the U.S. (Utah and Pensacola, FL excluded).

No, this blanketless bed was the cause of a fairly impressive row in the Carter household.  Basically, I didn't want to sleep on the hotel bed at all, unless the comforter was completely removed.  I don't see what the big deal was with this request.  It wasn't cold in the room, and you do know they don't wash those things but every once in a while.  You do know that, right?  And you do realize that we were not, by any standards, staying in what some might refer to as a "nice" hotel.  You do realize that other people, even poorer and grosser than us, have been doing WHO KNOWS WHAT, right ON TOP OF THAT COMFORTOR, RIGHT?  THE VERY SAME COMFORTOR THEY DON'T WASH?!?

I trust that you can all see the graveness of this situation.  Probably many of you would have just hopped back in the car, turned it around, and driven back home.  Don't think I didn't consider the very same thing.  Who could be expected to sleep in such conditions?  What kind of a cruel world would conceive of it?  But NO, I was determined to be a trooper.

The thing is, I have this totally unique and awesome way of dealing with the situations I find myself in, but I am completely unappreciated in my time.  Instead of just giving into the PARALYZING FEELINGS of fear and disgust that OCD often blesses me with, I try to find innocuous solutions.  The last time I was in such a hotel room situation, I BRILLIANTLY decided that insted of sleeping in FILTH, OH, THE FILTH OF IT ALL, I would just bring my own sheets.  Sheets don't take up much space in a bag, they take about 2 minutes to put on a bed, and viola!  A clean bed!  Oustanding.

But to hear Cody tell it, you would think I had suggested that we both don Hazmat suits, construct a giant, germ-resistent bubble, lug it into our hotel room, spray the room down with disenfectant, meditate to the God of Cleanliness, and then go to sleep.  He told me in no uncertain terms that I would NOT be bringing sheets with us to any hotel rooms, nor would he allow me to "indulge" myself (oh, the blissful INDULGENCE, the f-ing EUPHORIA) in my obsessive compulsiveness.  Instead, I was instructed to "deal with it, it's just a BED."

Well. 

We ended up sleeping in the bed, but without the comfortor.  And I was able to accomplish this only after I delivered a very moving exhortation on the dangers of STD's and Other Terrible Diseases, on the sadness of families finding their loved ones nipped in the rosy bud of life, all because they were too BUSY AND CARELESS to put clean sheets on a bed, and then Cody was falling asleep and said "Fine!  FINE!!" and kicked all the blankets off of the bed.  And as he drifted off to sleep, he even mumbled "Just bring sheets next time, I don't care anymore...geez."

And that, my friends, is how I defeated the viles of Contamination once more, and have recorded another hard-fought victory for the Clean Side.

Explanation and Education

Explanation: "Jill says hi" was SUPPOSED to be accompanied with a picture of Dr. Jillian Vegetable, in the flesh, waving her paw at the camera. Apparently, Blogger had other ideas.

Education: I have a friend who is having anxiety attacks, and, in the spirit of encouragement, we were trading freak-out stories via email this morning. I was typing out my version of That One Time When I Totally Lost It, and realized that yes, it has been enough time! It's funny now! So I'll share it with you, in a badly written and haphazard fashion:

I was in a movie with my college boyfriend. Actually, he was my high-school boyfriend, and now we were in college, at separate colleges, trying to do that thing where you say "No, not US, we won't break up just because we moved away from each other" but then we did anyway. Anyhow, this was before the breakup, and I was visiting him at his school and we decided to go see a movie.
At some point fairly early on in the movie I got this Really Bad Feeling that something was VERY WRONG. I don't know how else to explain it, but I just felt like I had better get out of there, and fast. The only problem was that my Leaving-the-Movie-for-Unexplainable-Reasons Plan was not at all in keeping with my Keeping-the-Relationship-Alive-and-Not-Looking-Crazy Plan; a plan that was just DESTINED to fail anyway, because I AM CRAZY. Just ask Cody if you don't believe me.
So, I came up with the brilliant idea of not actually watching the movie, but just sitting there in the theatre and pretending to watch the movie. I looked at the ceiling, at the little yellow ceiling lights, I counted every seat in the theatre, and tried my absolute best to not see, hear, or experience the movie in any way, as I got panickier and more panicked and PANICKED.
The movie FINALLY ended, and we left and got into his truck and he wanted to go to this coffee shop we both liked, and I was still trying not to be CRAZY, and so I agreed, and we drove over there, and he parked the truck, and everything seemed like it was RACING BY WITHOUT SLOWING DOWN NO MATTER WHAT I TRIED, and I couldn't get out of the truck.
I tried and tried, but every time I went to open the door, a new wave of total panic and fear came over me and I was even more certain than ever that The Very Minute I Opened That Door Would Be The Moment I Died. I thought there were bad people everywhere; I thought they were in the bed of the truck; I thought they were under the cars next to me; and I was POSITIVE that they were waiting to do Something Awful.
We left the coffee shop parking lot as it was becoming clear that a nice cup of coffee was probably COMPLETELY out of the question, and he drove me to my car, whereupon I experienced the exact same paralyzing fear and again could not exit the truck. My poor, poor companion valiantly attempted to UNDERSTAND what the hell was wrong with me, a feat unlikely to be accomplished, even by the most competent of psychotherapists. I couldn't move, I couldn't stop crying, and I certainly was NOT going to get out of his truck and into my car, where there was ABSOLUTELY at least one Very Horrible Person waiting on me. The evening ended with him helping me into my car after multiple checking-to-make-sure-no-one-is-there exercises, and me crying the entire way back to Dallas.

I think coming to grips with my True Craziness Within has helped cast the light of humor upon many a situation.

Beginnings and Endings, officially

You may have noticed the new format. I wanted to officially welcome Cody to the blog and when I saw this template, I just knew it would be perfect.

However, there is another reason for the change. I wanted to say goodbye, also officially, to my haircolor. I have, officially, ruined it. There is a small chance of saving it if the people at Toni and Guy can perform a major pigment miracle, but the likelyhood of it ever resembling a color found in God's creation is slim to none.

I wish I knew how to post pictures so that everyone could know the incredible catastrophe that is my hair, but perhaps it is a good thing that I don't.

Here's my best attempt to explain: Imagine this color, fading to this color, then chunking into this color. It's a huge mess. Ugh. It's kind of like when that nacho cheese truck overturned in the road and all the cars coming through slid all over the road, colliding into one another and causing a giant, cheesy disaster. The similarities are striking not only in the "How disgusting!" department, but also in the "I can't believe that just happened," department, not to mention the "I can't look away bcause it's too awful!" department.

I eventually drove myself so insane looking at it that I had to tie a scarf around my head and go to bed. Cody made the observation that he never would have imagined going to bed with hair product scattered around the room, a cat refusing to move from his pillow, and a wife who insists on sleeping with a hair scarf. I tearfully replied: "Oh yeah?? WELL JUST WAIT!" I think it was sound advice, officially.

Well, it seems that the

Well, it seems that the election is finally over. And since it is over, I don't think it's too necessary to say anything much about it at all, if you'll except me these two things:Anyhow, we ended up making a deal, which, in Cody's defense, never should have worked out favorably for me. I had to get permission from our apartment manager not only to have a cat in our no-pets lease apartment, but also to not have to pay ANYTHING extra for said cat. I then had to ask both of our roomates (yep, weird situation, ask if you're super-curious), who are both also cat-haters (what is WRONG with these people??) if it was "okay" for me to have a kitty. Well, this plan was doomed from the start, but with my poignant charm and the luck of having a cat-loving apartment manager (yea for her), everything was soon in order.

I informed Cody of the great news (nonplused would suffice to describe that response), and set out to pick up my new kitty. She spend the majority of the night either hiding under the bed being quiet, or hiding under the bed meowing. She's obviously smart AND multi-faceted. I love her, and for reasons that seem to have escaped my control, her name is Dr. Jillian Vegetable. Don't ask.

1) I believe that the Lord reigns supreme over this and every other major and minor event in the world, and therefore we can trust Him with the results; and

2) I hope that this term truly is for history. And in a good way. And I think we can all legitimately hope for that.

NOW....onto other things. And this is big news. After the sudden (and suspicious) departure of the beloved JacktheCat, I was distraught. My relationships with neighbors diminished, as I relentlessly perused my apartment complex for hours and hours, night after night, calling "Jaaaaaaccck! Jaaaaaccckieee?". My husband became increasingly perplexed at my sudden bouts of crying at Bounty paper towel commercials featuring a troublesome cat knocking kool-aid on the floor. A blue bear, from Schlitterbahn, somehow made his way from being relegated to a box in the garage to sleeping in bed with us, every night, and invoking search parties if he went missing even for a few minutes. All to say, I was not handling Jack's absence very well. And it was taking a toll.

After Schlitterbear "turned up" in my carry-on bag on our flight to California, and Cody rudely refused to let him look out the window OR sit with a seatbelt on, we decided that something had to be done. I, of course, wanted to get a new kitty. Cody, being an incredible cat-hater, was somewhat opposed. After several failed attempts, I had pretty much resigned myself to waiting the infinite month and a half until we moved into a house and could get a dog. Or a cat, as I often reminded everyone.

However, two days ago, a huge development raised its lovely head and smiled upon me. I think it spat upon Cody, but I saw it as a smile. Anyway, a few months ago, a woman (we'll call her Rich Dallas Aerobics Woman, or RDAW), kindly took in a knocked-up cat. This cat, of course, sat around being perfect (as cats are) until one day, all of her little bastard children were born. Now RDAW, being an obviously sweet and kind-hearted woman, wanted to keep all these tiny kitties, but already having three cats and a dog, did not feel that it would be in her best interest to do so. Especially considering the fact that there are probably already more than a few who call her the Cat Lady. And no one wants that. At any rate, RDAW set out to find parents for all these little kittens. This wonderful woman even offered to pay for all their spaying and shots, all in exchange for a loving home. And luckily enough for me, I have a friend who works at this woman's fitness club, and she caught wind of the whole thing.

Of course she thought immediately of poor catless Elise, and called me right up. I of course immediately thought of my poor poor husband (well, no, I didn't) but after my initial excitement, I was reminded of the huge cat-barricade he would construct in order to prevent me from taking advantage of this fabulous offer. So I psyched myself up and delivered a very moving speech, advocating the freedom and health of these poor, fatherless kittens, and detailing all the wonderful advantages we could give to our very own precious new kitty. But for some reason, Cody didn't even look like he cared. I'm sure he was holding the emotion within, but he could've fooled me.

Indecisive Much?

How about this for the best metaphor ever describing indecision?

"I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story.

From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Atilla and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many other figs I couldn't quite make out.

I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn't make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but chosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, the plopped to the ground at my feet."


well, hmmmm.....Indecision is pretty deadly. This is the conclusion I am slowly coming to, from a person who is probably one of the (if not the) most indecisive people in the world. It affects everything and everyone - it riddles literature throughout the ages, from Hamlet's massive confusion and failure to act leading to the death of almost every character in Shakespeare's The Tragedy of Prince Hamlet to the quote above with Esther, in Sylvia Plath's The Bell Jar. It's in scripture, from "Choose this day whom you will serve....no man can serve two masters, he will hate the one and love the other" to "It is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than a rich man to pass through the gates of heaven" to "if any man will follow me, he must deny his father, and mother, and brother". There is no good advice, in the history of the world, that says anything like "Well, just hang on for as long as you can, keep all your options open, and never choose anything for fear that it might be the wrong choice."

Where did I get that idea, then?

Mr. Gray

confusion wanders in
strides the evening like a king
chaos and turmoil prevail
bedlam reigns, hope is drowned
ah but strangely we settle down
resigned to the sinking ship on which we sail....
another night is getting late
I don't know which way to go
there's just this long white road
and I can't think straight
no I can't think straight

david gray