Neurotic Tendencies.
I have other, more physical, manifestations of neuroses than just the incessant mental quandries that I dump here.
For example, closing my car door causes me extreme anguish and can take several minutes on a bad day. I have a mortifying fear of locking the keys inside. I stand with the car door in one hand and the ring of keys in the other, my heart pounding. I look at the keys and begin to close the door and stop in a moment of panic, look again at the keys again, attempt once more to close the door...finally, I force myself to just slam it shut, keys be damned. On a positive note, I never lock my keys in my car, and, consequently, I never lock my son in the car. I'm just so afraid that I've somehow imagined holding the keys, when they're really tossed negligently on the driver's side seat. I have a real issue with my own carelessness.
Another...er...development centers around my little boy's bookshelf. When I begin to put books away, I find myself becoming ritualistic in the placement of the chubby board books. I try to resist the compulsion to put the books in a particular order - usually in decreasing size and arranged in neat little compatible groups. But I find the desire to arrange them nearly impossible to combat. Some nights I force myself to just throw them on the shelf in no particular order, not evenly aligned, not even standing upright, just to assure myself that I'm not certifiable. But I do feel a mild sense of dread on these nights. As though the haphazard chaos of the bookshelf might contribute to civil unrest in Cambodia or Rwanda.
This isn't entirely new. Once, years ago, while staying with a friend, I removed all of her books from her bookshelves and stacked them in strange Stonehengian columns on her floor. I was asleep when I did it. She thought it was some sort of weird prank, and I went along with her. But I have no idea why I did it.
And years before that, when I was a little girl, I would shower in my sleep. My great-grandmother, Dearie, would follow along behind me to make sure that I didn't scald myself, which I never did. I'd shower, scrub, pull my nightgown back on, and climb back into bed without ever waking. Like a little Lady Macbeth.
At least I'm consistent.
For example, closing my car door causes me extreme anguish and can take several minutes on a bad day. I have a mortifying fear of locking the keys inside. I stand with the car door in one hand and the ring of keys in the other, my heart pounding. I look at the keys and begin to close the door and stop in a moment of panic, look again at the keys again, attempt once more to close the door...finally, I force myself to just slam it shut, keys be damned. On a positive note, I never lock my keys in my car, and, consequently, I never lock my son in the car. I'm just so afraid that I've somehow imagined holding the keys, when they're really tossed negligently on the driver's side seat. I have a real issue with my own carelessness.
Another...er...development centers around my little boy's bookshelf. When I begin to put books away, I find myself becoming ritualistic in the placement of the chubby board books. I try to resist the compulsion to put the books in a particular order - usually in decreasing size and arranged in neat little compatible groups. But I find the desire to arrange them nearly impossible to combat. Some nights I force myself to just throw them on the shelf in no particular order, not evenly aligned, not even standing upright, just to assure myself that I'm not certifiable. But I do feel a mild sense of dread on these nights. As though the haphazard chaos of the bookshelf might contribute to civil unrest in Cambodia or Rwanda.
This isn't entirely new. Once, years ago, while staying with a friend, I removed all of her books from her bookshelves and stacked them in strange Stonehengian columns on her floor. I was asleep when I did it. She thought it was some sort of weird prank, and I went along with her. But I have no idea why I did it.
And years before that, when I was a little girl, I would shower in my sleep. My great-grandmother, Dearie, would follow along behind me to make sure that I didn't scald myself, which I never did. I'd shower, scrub, pull my nightgown back on, and climb back into bed without ever waking. Like a little Lady Macbeth.
At least I'm consistent.
posted by Autumn at 2:39 PM
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