Let's See Your OCD

When I was still in nursing school, one of the subjects I loved and was fascinated by was Mental Health. On the very first page of my Mental Health module was a small introductory paragraph. The introduction itself is not memorable; what I remember, and always will remember, is the opening sentence:

Each one of us has small, varying degrees of different mental illnesses.

Oh sure! Now you tell me. Here I thought I was just a superstitious old fool. Now I can call it by it's proper name: Superstitious/magical thinking, a tiny corner of Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder. (A corner where we throw chicken bones to decide who gets first dibs on the bathroom faucet.)

The "crazy" thing is, the more superstitions you invent, the more things you start noticing. The more things you start noticing, the more things you start noticing going wrong, if you haven't completed your ritual. Also, you will notice more things going right, if you have done your ritual.

My superstitions began at the tender dewdrop age of ten. My best friend at the time, Christina, got me started. (Let's blame her; what the heck, she's not here.) The first superstition I ever had was the one she gave me: never, ever step on the first or last step of a staircase, whether you were going up or down. If you did, it meant you were going to grow up and marry Joe McK. and nobody wanted to marry him because he picked his nose and stuck pushpins through his sneakers. With the sharp ends pointed out.

Christina lived in a house that had stairs leading from the kitchen to the front door. When I would go down the stairs, I would touch the ceiling of the foyer where it ended to allow for the staircase. But only once per visit, because if I touched it a second time, my good luck would disappear and be replaced with bad luck. Bad luck like Christina's ghetto blaster would fall out of the window where it was perched. Or we would not be allowed to have a bonfire and a sleepover. If I touched that spot on the ceiling a third time, my good luck would return.

Now, I can look back and see that the ghetto blaster probably fell because we had New Kids on the Block cranked and it committed suicide we were jumping around and someone probably knocked it. Perhaps we were not allowed to have a sleepover and a bonfire because we were constantly at each others' houses and our parents wanted a break from our togetherness.

I no longer feel the need to avoid the first and last steps of a staircase, because I am already married and thus, the chances of marrying Joe McK. are slim. (Sometimes, just sometimes, I wonder if nose picking and thumb-tacked shoes might just be marginally better than nose picking, denial-farting*, and improper use of the flat sheet in bed.**) (I don't think Hot Stuff is open to the concept of a Brother-Husband, either. He's kind of stick in the mud like that.)

I do, however, still feel the urge to touch the top of doorways once, and only once, when I pass through. If I'm not by myself, I can usually resist the urge and tell myself that thinking of touching the top of the door-frame is an acceptable alternative. If I really need a shot of good luck, I will pretend that I'm stretching, or rubbing at a nick or scuff at the top of the door-frame. If by some chance I touch the top of the door-frame a second time, I must immediately touch it again a third time. It has to be either once, or three times. Never just twice.

Another of my superstitions is about salt. If you spill salt, you must throw some of the spilled salt over your shoulder. If you don't take this precaution, Bad Things Will Happen To You.

Here's the thing: when you eat breakfast at a restaurant and you knock over the salt twice (once right after the other), you must throw salt over your shoulder twice. One shoulder-throw is not sufficient; it must be once per spill. If you fail to do this, Bad Things Will Happen To You.

Bad Things like: You Will Make A Giant Mess Out Of Your Daughter's Birthday Cake And Spend Over An Hour Fixing And Cleaning Because You Caused Three Separate Small Oven Fires, In Addition To Giving Your Ego A Painful Blow Because You Like To Think Of Yourself As A Pretty Talented Amateur Baker.

Important Life Lesson: It's not OCD, people, this superstitious shit is REAL. Make sure you follow your rituals or Bad Stuff Will Also Happen To You.

So, let's see your OCD.

*Denial-farting: two people are in a room. The first person, oh.. let's call him "Warm Stuff," farts. The second person, we'll call her "Stoney" says, "Gross. Farty McFarterson from Fartertown Falls." Warm Stuff denies ownership of the fart, and continues to deny ownership of the fart, even though they are the only two people in the room and it is clearly Warm Stuff who cut the cheese.

**This is when one person, again, we'll call him "Warm Stuff" refuses to sleep under the flat sheet (the one that is NOT fitted, for all of you bachelors out there), so "Stoney" has no flat-sheet movement and is constantly trying to yank more flat sheet loose from the hulking, snoring beast known as Warm Stuff.