Isn't it neurotic? Don't you think? A little too neurotic.

I'm not perfect.

Okay, I'll pause a moment as you regain your composure from that inevitable large shock-filled gasping breath you just took in.....

Alright, now that you've regained your composure I'll explain. I just finished "Devil in the Details" by Jennifer Traig (fantastic book) in which she humorously explains her life-long battle with OCD and her strive to be perfect. While I will not pretend that this book has suddenly led me believe I myself suffer from OCD or can even entertain the notion that I completely understand the outstanding nature of her compulsions or her battle with anorexia, I can see some of myself in her.

Here is something I have really never talked to anyone about. When I was younger I felt the need to do things that I didn't really understand. Why was it that I had to take exactly 10 sips, no more no less, from the bubbler? If I bumped my left side against something, why did I then also have to brush that item with my right side to "feel even?" To this day I always break numbers down in my head until they cannot be broken down anymore. I incessantly type out words in my head and at times feel compelled to walk at a certain stride, making sure not to step on any cracks. I like to blame my need to watch my feet when I walk on the fact that I just don't walk very well, but that's not necessarily the case. You may be saying well, maybe you're just a little neurotic. Maybe it's just a little quirk you have. And I agree. It doesn't interfere with my ability to do everyday tasks and I function reasonably well in everyday society. So what's the problem? What's the real kicker? I used to think, and sometimes still do at times, that if I don't do these things it would somehow cause disastrous things to happen. This was increasingly reinforced by the fact that when I did do them bad things didn't happen.

But sometimes I don't think about these things. Sometimes I break the ridiculous rules I have set for myself. And you know what? Nothing bad happens. Everything is okay. No one dies. My world does not come to a screeching halt. I can get by without breaking down the number "39" into "13" because both numbers are divisible by 3. Doing these things doesn't make me perfect. I'm perfectly imperfect. And that's okay.

p.s. As I was writing this post the song "Crazy" by Gnarls Barkley came on my i-tunes. Not very reassuring to hear someone constantly say "I think you're crazy" while trying to reaffirm your own sanity. Coincidence?