Life

OCD And Why I Should Never Be Allowed To Make Important Decisions

Let me just start by saying that I don’t lick doorknobs. I don’t wash my hands 1,000 times a day in scalding hot water. I don’t have to turn light switches on and off three times before I leave a room. And Lord knows, I do not feel the uncontrollable urge to clean stuff.

But there is a part of my brain that cannot function unless certain things – certain ridiculously unimportant things – are a certain way. And when that part of my brain cannot function, it spitefully shuts down other, vital areas of my brain.

So imagine my horror when I walked into my hairdresser’s shop, sat down and saw this:

Just posting this picture has made my eye start twitching.

Just posting this picture has made my eye start twitching.

Maybe you can’t see right away exactly what started my brain on its descent. Here, look a little closer.

See? See the crooked painting?

See? See the crooked painting?

Can someone please tell me how, in an age where there are apps that turn your phone into a level, how can anyone hang a crooked picture?! We can put men on the moon but we can’t hang straight picture frames? It’s an abomination, I tell you!

And then, my brain does what it must do at times like this. It fixates on all the ways that this picture is wrong. 

Look. It doesn't align with the coat rack beneath it. See? Do you see it? Over here! Look!

Look. It doesn’t align with the coat rack beneath it. See? Do you see it? Over here! Look!

So I tried to ignore my stupid brain and instead started looking through the books on the table in front of me, trying to choose my next hairstyle. Yeah, that worked.

It doesn't align with the crown molding either. Nope, it does not. Oh no. Molding - straight, picture - NOT straight!

It doesn’t align with the crown molding either. Nope, it does not. Oh no. Molding – straight, picture – NOT straight!

And then began the battle of my brain with itself.

“I’m not looking anymore”
“Yes, you are”

It doesn't even align with this other picture. See? Yes, you see. I know you do.

It doesn’t even align with this other picture. See? Yes, you see. I know you do.

“Stop it!”
No, I don’t think so.”
“I’m looking at the hairstyles.”
Sure you are. You’re in the men’s styles.”
“Dammit.”
Heheheh...”

Look at how it REALLY doesn't align with ALL of the panels that they painted in a lovely checkerboard pattern. Do you see all the lovely straight lines of the panel? Yes, yes you do. I know you do. Now look at the painting again. Now the panels. Now the painting. Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

Look at how it REALLY doesn’t align with ALL of the panels that they painted in a lovely checkerboard pattern. Do you see all the lovely straight lines of the panel? Yes, yes you do. I know you do. Now look at the painting again. Now the panels. Now the painting. Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

And then the meltdown.

Mwahahahahahaha... MWAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

Mwahahahahahaha… MWAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

Finally, the hairdresser called my name. I got up from the chair facing the nightmare painting and moved to the barber chair, where I had my back to the monstrosity. And then I looked in the mirror. And saw it. Again.

Mwahahahahahaha... MWAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

Mwahahahahahaha… MWAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

 

The hairdresser asked me how I wanted my haircut. I pointed to a photo of a woman who looked sort of like someone but I couldn’t figure out who because my brain could only see the stupid crooked painting. The hairdresser looked at me oddly and said something that could have been “That’s shorts and a top” or maybe it was just “CrookedPaintingCrookedPaintingCrookedPainting”. Whatever.

And then she cut my hair. And then I went home. And then I realized who it was the woman in the picture that I pointed at looked like. Because I was no longer looking at the crooked painting, of course.  

Yes, this is Joan Jett.

Yes, she looked like Joan Jett. In 1981. And I don’t care if it was the 80s. She’s still hot.

And then Jepeto complimented me on my mullet.

 

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