OCD.

Someone was sitting in my seat at church this morning. Yes, I have a seat at church. My name's not on it, but for the 2 1/2 years that I have been attending this church, I have been sitting in this seat. I moved just across the aisle to another open seat, but it just didn't feel the same...it didn't feel right. I didn't like the view from where I sat; the screen was in the wrong place, the band was in the wrong place, the pastor was in the wrong place...I was in the wrong place. I sucked it up and stayed until the end, but it reminded me of the last time someone sat in my seat. Both the seats in front and back of me were taken, so I had to sit in an entirely different set of pews. I moved to the left, I moved to the right, I moved downstairs; I became so consumed with being in the wrong seat that I actually just left. I couldn't take it, and in all honesty I was tempted to leave today.

I was faced with my crazy again as I walked into my bedroom. My room is a disaster, however my closet is immacculate; organized by type and color...all the black dress pants have their place; all of the red 3/4 length shirts have theirs. The tennis shoes and heels don't mix, and don't get me started on the strappy sandals and "party" shoes.

It doesn't end there; my books are organized by type...fiction vs. non-fiction...and arranged by height and width. The cd's are arranged alphabeticallly by genre, and the worst of it...my secret shame... I empty and re-load the dishwasher based off of my perfected system of space efficiency.

I wonder if they offer a pill for ridiculous.