Monday, February 13, 2006
"I'll just die if I don't get that recipe"
Up until now, I've scoffed at those who've claimed OCD. It's almost a generational cliche, or a sign of status. You're nobody if you don't have some disorder, and OCD has become the most socially acceptable.
Despite that, I'm copping to the times. Ever since I was a kid, I've obssessed over rearranging my environs. It began with my mulitcolored, Storehouse-bought, plastic toy boxes, available in every color of the rainbow. One week, it would be blue stacked upon yellow, or orange ascending brown, then reversed.
The cycle continues even now, in my cozy little studio apartment, triggering a chain of events that I've deemed Malcontent-worthy. Not that I'm picky about such things.
After watching a "Curb Your Enthusiam" repeat, I decided that, with heaps of work to do, but no ambition, I'd rearrange my "living area," a time-tested distraction from pressing responsibilities. So I swtiched the rocking chair with the book shelf and all was fine. But then brain cramp set in. I had a glass of red wine sitting on my coffee table, which I had moved to facilitate the interior redesign. Certainly I could move the coffee table back without tipping over the glass of red wine.
Naturally it spills, all over my recently purchased beige rug. I curse, loudly, inventively, and repeatedly. Ah, but I had the good fortune of just catching the episode of "Curb" where Larry learns the old restaurant trick of removing unforgivable stains. If only I had paid closer attention.
I remembered the club soda and table salt part. I had those items. So I applied liberally, perhaps too liberally. However, as I post, the results look promising, though I'm a bit colorblind, meaning I can't quite determinte the difference between wet stains and red wine stains.
On top of it all, that glass of wine neutered my remote control. How did we ever live without it? Vexed by all my furniure moving, I had settled on an evening of leisure ... wine, cigarettes and TV. Getting up, sitting down, and getting up again didn't factor into my plans. So I popped in my "Stepford Wives" (the original) DVD. And I watched my rug dry. And I'm hopeful ...