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OCD For Others

As a teen and young adult, I, like many Americans, collected a lot of stuff. The problem with stuff is that you need a place for it. As most of us know, when you accumulate, you create clutter. If you do this enough, they have a name for you; hoarder.

I'm 47-years-old and I've never had less stuff in my life. I am not obsessed with order, or even neatness, in my life, but I tend to show signs of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder when it comes to other people's stuff or making other's lives easier. I don't think about it until after, or until someone comments, but it bothers me.

The other day, I was on line in the checkout aisle and I loaded the conveyor belt with my items. Small cans, large cans, small jars and large jars, all rows of two. Then boxes were lined up, one at a time, large to small. Frozen veggies were then placed in one row, followed by the bulk of my order, fresh produce and fruit, all lined by which could handle weight on top of it. Finally, was my hummus, chips and bread. This, because it's what I knew I'd be eating first. When I got home, I brought the groceries in the house. Lined up the frozen veggies in the freezer, loaded the fruits and vegetable drawers, then put all the canned and jarred products on the shelf with similar products, lines of three, labels showing in the front. When I was done, I went to scoop out some hummus into a smaller bowl, opened the dishwasher to put the spoon in, then rearranged the dirty silverware, so that the small forks and spoons were with small forks and spoons, the large forks and spoons were with large forks and spoons and knives were with knives.

I then threw my sweatshirt over the back of a chair and forgot it there. Went upstairs to my unmade bed and looked at the printer on the floor, black garbage bags filled with clothes I've yet to unpack and my laundry bag, filled, waiting to be washed. Swag's food, on a towel, in the corner of the room, his toys and scratch pad scattered about. This doesn't bother me, because my life is just as easy with those things in disarray, as the cashier's life was made by my efforts. The food downstairs is where I straddle the line of OCD for others and for myself.

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