The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly: A Place for Everything and Everything in it's Place

So, a Spaghetti Western and Sergio Leone, what do they have to do with OCD? Nada. I just likes the title. Plus, it's pretty well known as far as Westerns go. Although, I feel like people lie about seeing it, since it's a classic. Much like stating, "I never urinated in a ball pit at Chuck E. Cheese when I was 29 years old." Because, I didn't. I don't care what the ball pit life guard said. He's full of shit. Anyhoo, I digress. Today's lesson on OCD deals with object placement. Yup. Everything needs to be where it is, despite not really needing to be there at all. Make sense? Allow me to explain.
You see, things occupy space. It's just physics. Or science. Or some kind of magic. And as such, for me at least, when I consider a place "home", Phil has a way of making me want to have things placed in a particular way until the end of time or when I die. Whichever comes first. Now, this doesn't apply to everything, like large objects, i.e. a couch, a bed, a table or a corpse. Nope, smaller objects like things you'd might find in a kitchen, bedroom, bathroom, sex dungeon, or linen closet.
Now that I'm painting a picture, I might as well give an example and paint in some detail or "Happy Trees." RIP Bob Ross, (pours a small container of Crayola red paint onto the ground in reverence). My wife's nightstand. It's hers. Such as the name implies. She has all kinds of knick knacks and accoutrement which are spread all over it. A Lamp, a clock, notepads, hand lotion, (we're a dry skinned people in the winter), pens, pencils, and other stuff. And of course, she uses all of them and places them back on the table. Now, since she is not afflicted with OCD, she should not and does not care how or where they are placed on the table. But, hey, guess who does? Survey Says: me. Much to her frustration.
Each day, several times a day, I will reorganize what's on her end table, if it's not in it's proper place. Why? Because, I can't help the fact that everything needs to be in it's place. The presence of Phil won't let me just be. Of course, this extends to many objects in the house that need to be "just so." I stress "need", because that ties back to compulsion and the word "C" for Compulsive in O.C.D. Next time won't you sing with me? See? It all comes together like some kind of anxiety ridden puzzle.
Now, you can imagine, this does not make for an easy to live with house mate. I know. That's why I'm currently seeking therapy. Honestly, if I had to live with me? I would've pushed me down the stairs a long time ago...and blamed it on a ghost. Though, I don't think that would hold up in court, or would it? Hmmm.

Note to self: avoid steps in house when wife is present. Or construct a ladder leading to the second floor.


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