Yellow is the colour of my chromosome: Laundry OCD

O.C.D.
Obsessive Compulsive Disorder

It's a fickle thing. It doesn't mean that I'm a neat freak. No, it's not that. It means that certain things tweak me the wrong way. And I'm only a mild case, with infrequent symptoms.

Like turning the lights on, then off, then on, then off... to make sure it really was off.
Like making sure all my appointments are written in my diary otherwise I simply cannot function because I don't truly believe that the appointments are real unless they're written down. Even when the appointment is over & done with, knowing it wasn't written down beforehand nags at me.

My best friend Shirley once threatened to throw my diary at me cause I wanted to 'pencil in' a coffee date with her at Gurney Plaza while we were riding the elevator... at Gurney Plaza.

Like trying to find lighter gas refill. Wasn't even my lighter. The owner was like 'to hell with that' after the first shop. And I went, "Nooooooooooo." "NOOOOOOOOOO let's go here, come along. Nope. Yeah. Let's try here too." And yeah we finally found it, and I was happy. And Daphne was pointing at me, and shaking her head, giggling and repeating "OCD. OCD, man. Dude you were on a mission. Hahahaha."
Like when I accidentally left my exercise ball at Starbucks. Despite knowing that my friend who works in MPH was going to retrieve it for me, I made Daphne drive over there with me anyway cause I'd feel really shitty if I lost it and knew I myself didn't attempt to physically go over there to retrieve it. So we went. And sat in the car waiting. I felt good just being within the vicinity of it.

And once I parked the car, after all the hyperactive caffeine induced chatter and laughing and praying my stuff didn't walk away on its own two legs, I said to Daphne in a tragic undervoice...

"You know. I wasn't always like this babe."

I get greeted by shrieks of laughter.
*wry look*

((All I can say to Daphne now is... what's up with not buying a new lighter for the longest time cause you felt like you're being a traitor to your old favourite one that broke? Eh? *poke* ))

And then in the car, I continued to story Daphne about my Laundry OCD. Which is peculiar. Because before I moved back home, I was never afflicted with it. But one day while hanging out my laundry, my mum passed this disease on to me.

I hung my clothes with whichever clothes pegs were to hand. And then she looks at me and tut tuts. She takes the damn thing from me, and then removes the green peg... and replaces it with an orange peg... to match the other peg. "See? Matching coloured pegs," she says, damn pleased with herself.

I laugh my arse off at her. I go, "Oohh OOh look ma, look what I'm doing." And then purposely switch the colour of the pegs just to irritate her and make her laugh.

And then the strangest thing happened. I squinted and paused. And made them the same colour again.

And I've been that way ever since. Worse. It's not just limited to the colour of the peg. But the type. And the size. And and and and it's political affiliations even, if it HAS to come to that!!!!!!!!

Let me show you.

This is where it gets ugly.

I feel shame.

But you know, the slim hangers are for like T-shirts and stuff. And the bloated oval ones are for like shorts. And the huge bloated ones are for like, jeans and undies and stuff.

And and and. The average pegs are for regular clothes. The bigger pegs are for jeans and heavier clothes. And the long pegs are to clip collars together around the top of a hanger to make sure they don't get out of shape! And those cute old fashioned woody pegs are for hanging stuff out on a regular laundry line - like towels and socks.

Really.

And delicate wash bags are for like delicate clothes and girly clothes with those tangly long bits. And I have round 'shaped' bags to keep my bras in shape and to make sure my heavy studded-belts don't knock all my other clothes senseless.

And I do 5 loads.