This is part of a series of ongoing OCD episodes, which I will post as they happen. This is live, stream of consciousness. It happens. Often. Sometimes the subjects are different.

SCENE ONE: MANIC

I think I’ve figured out this whole OCD thing. It is simply a matter of moving ignorance where it belongs. To ignore, and I can ignore. And I am happy. I know I’ve been told to hate happiness and settle with—strive for—contentment. But I am friggin’ happy right now. Even stupid songs—you know ones by, like, Van Morrison—work. He isn’t that bad, nothing is really that bad. I could probably play any song that hints at the upbeat right now and it would work. I won’t try.

“Screw you!”

That is what I am thinking most of all. To everyone abusive to me from 1991 on, most specifically recently. They are not relevant, but my freedom from them is. I don’t really care for any actions from them. I am friggin’ happy.

I don’t care if it is cliché, I am going to embrace cleaning and organizing. I am going to put up shelves and decide on their need later. I am going to buy more clocks. I have very near the perfect setup for my living space. It involves the beauty of information, mirrors, pens, things to hold other things, and a lot of containers. And I don’t at all care if this really isn’t what my OCD is all about. I am this, right now, and I am friggin’ happy with it.

Even the time of day is perfect. There’s enough left to be creative and get things done, but not too much so that the beauty of the end of the day is palpable. And this could all be going on tomorrow as well. An eternal Saturday, this.

I write words to myself and they friggin’ sing. If I could concoct a drug that would make people feel this way… I don’t know. I’d probably keep it to myself. Because of fear.

Fear.

SCENE ONE: DOWN FROM MANIA

Tired. Everything.