The Consumption

Okay, so the "consumption" is a very old-fashioned term for tuberculosis. Given the content of this post, I found it more than appropriate.

I have issues. If you have followed this blog for anytime at all, this is far from a newsflash.

It was suggested to me a long time ago that I seek therapy for obsessive-compulsive disorder. I always took it sort of light-heartedly, thinkin' that my "isms" were normal for women, particularly moms. Since I have been a mother for more of my life than I haven't, I can't really remember not being this way.

It was more recently brought to my attention that I really might need to get it checked out. For realz.

For as long as I can remember, I have had two speeds: high and off. There is no middle-ground there. I am either barreling through life like a bull in a china shop or I am asleep. Rest is a four-letter word. I honestly don't think I know how. My husband has brought this up many times over the years. I didn't pay it much attention, because after all, it wasn't his life that got out of control if my chores weren't done, it was mine.

I was talking with a friend whose spouse has OCD. She was in tears expressing her frustration in living with him. By the end of the conversation, I was in tears because I finally saw our home life through John's eyes. It was not pretty.

I have been feeling overwhelmed as of late and have tried to delegate some household chores to Chuck and John. I asked Chuck to pack his lunch for school and John to set the coffee maker for the next morning. They both did as they were asked. When I walked back in the kitchen, there were coffee grounds on the counter, bread crumbs and lettuce strewn all about. Ignore it Wendy. It is okay. Just go on doing what you're doing. So, I sit down at my computer to calmly finish the task at hand. I cannot concentrate because the bread crumbs and coffee grounds on the counter are creating noise in my head. That's the only way I know how to describe it. The noise is so loud I am unable to focus on anything else but THE BREAD CRUMBS AND THE COFFEE GROUNDS ON THE COUNTER! I could not stop myself from getting up out of my chair to clean the kitchen. Again. For at least the tenth time that day.

This is how I live my life on a daily basis. It is exhausting.

In doing research on the subject, I came across a quiz, so I took it and then had those closest to me take it too, just to compare. I am too embarrassed to tell you all my score, let's just say that when my total came up there was stuff highlighted and flashing in red 'bout how I needed "to seek professional help immediately".

Yikes.

So I did. I start behavioral therapy next week and I am scared to death. Yes, I want to learn how to relax and yes, I think it will benefit my family tremendously. But quite honestly, I don't know that I'm ready to be that "well".  My OCD has benefited me in many areas of my life. I have a work ethic like nobody's bidness and when it comes to gettin' some stuff done, and done well, I am the woman. I rock in situations like that. Multi-taskin'? Child please. My OCD is why I can beat the pants off anyone at Tetris. Little puzzle looking pieces that when fit perfectly together disappear? That's an OCD's dream.

All the women in my life have told me they can relate, but they know how to chill out, too. That's what I want. There has to be a gray area in there somewhere and I am hoping to find it.

p.s. If anyone wants to take the quiz and e-mail me their results or comment below, feel free. I'd love to get some input from other women.

I have issues . . . .

I was recently lamenting over my decision to let my hair grow out.  About eighteen months ago, I had a pixie haircut.  Cute, cool, and super-easy.  So I did what I normally do when mourning, posted something on Facebook about it, what else?  After reading my status, my husband comes sprinting back from the bedroom and makes me a deal:  if I continue to let my hair grow out, he'll hire someone to clean the house. 

I immediately replied "DEAL!", before I could help myself. 

In the back of my mind, I'm thinking I could never allow someone else to clean my house.  To say I am a picky housekeeper is an understatement.  For a period of time in my life I cleaned houses.  Even when I was working full-time and considered hiring someone to clean I always quickly dismissed it as a big waste of time:  my potential housekeeper's and mine.  Been there, done that.  There's no way I'd be satisfied.  We won't even go in to the whole nurse/germaphobe thing.  And then there's the fact that I am not currently employed and would feel really guilty about spending the money on having someone clean my house.  There's no way I could live with myself . . . . could I?  Surely my darling husband knows this about me . . . .

Nowwaitadamnminute.  Did he just make me a deal on something he knew he wouldn't have to follow through on?  He doesn't think I'll do this!  He honestly doesn't think I can.  Ha!  Well hide and watch, mister!  I'm calling that cleaning service ASAP, by God. 

So, I did it.  I called a cleaning service I have been eyeing for a while.  At this point I still wasn't sure I was going to pull the trigger.  Really I was doing it for the joy of watching John squirm.  I was gonna let him sweat this one out . . . . .

I tell Morgan that I will need her help with the baby briefly because there's someone coming over to give me an estimate on cleaning the house.  Dead silence.  She looks at me as if I have three heads and says, "Someone's coming over to give you an estimate on cleaning this house?".  I could almost hear her thinking, "Po' thang.  I feel sorry for whoever that is.".
   
Don came over yesterday to give me an estimate.  I must say, I was impressed.  Very impressed.  He came in, introduced himself and asked if I would give him a quick tour of the house.  Which I did.  He wanted to "take a look at some things".  Which he did.  He looked in my microwave . . . HE LOOKED IN MY MICROWAVE!  That gave me a warm and fuzzy feeling.  There was a glimmer of hope that maybe whoever he sent in would actually clean the microwave.   He looked in corners and thoroughly inspected shower doors and whatnot.  He then sat me down and went over everything that would be done on every visit; and the extra stuff that would get done on a rotating basis.  There it was.  One thing I cherish very deeply:  a plan ::insert "Hallelujah" chorus here::.  Blinds, baseboards, light fixtures, things that would be toothbrushed (that's right, TOOTHBRUSHED!) . . . . he left no stone unturned. 

And then, I inform him that I am a nurse, (apparently we're THE worst clients to have) and I formerly cleaned houses for a living.  He didn't bat an eye.  He didn't shake my hand and tell me to have a nice day (which has happened before), he didn't pitch me some cheesy sales line.  He jotted down some notes in his notebook and calmly said, "Try it my way for one month.  I assure you, you won't be disappointed".   He then told me that he goes behind every team he sends out and inspects their work.  And then he addressed all the issues and hesitations I had in calling anyone in the first place.  All without me saying a word.  And that's when I realized I was sort of crushin' on Don.  Not in a romantic way, but in a knight-in-shining-armor kinda way.  I think you could actually SEE hearts floating out of my eyes when I looked at him.  After all, he was speakin' my language.

Now, yes, I am overly-excited and they haven't even come in to clean yet.  But I am actually hopeful.  And yes, I am fully aware of how sad it is that I am this effin' psyched about it at all.  This is the most exciting thing that's happened to me in at least the last month . . . . . I can't believe I just typed that.  That is rather pitiful. 

Does new Tupperware count?  Honestly, if I had written a post about how ecstatic I am about my new Tupperware my husband would probably have me institutionalized.  (Even though it's the kind with the lids that snap on the bottom of the container when they're not in use.  So I don't have to cuss when I am knocked over by the mountain of plastic that comes spewing out when I open that damn cabinet.  I mean, how cool is that?  That's completely and totally normal, right?)

::Sigh::  I used to have a life, I swear.  Maybe with someone else helping out with the housework, I can work on that . . .   ;)