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. This one may or may not relate to: Problemlessness—OCD Can Be Awfully Boring.

I’ve been given time. Free time. A lot of free time. Far more free time than I am used to. Oh, I don’t mean just slacking off time. I mean, I’ve dropped a lot of dead weight and the anxiety that came with such. Of my own volition? Doesn’t matter, it is gone. Big problems are gone. They vanished. There is no doubt that the absence will create more anxiety and worry, but one thing is for sure—I have time. I’ve had time. For a week now.

What have I done with my time? I’ve put everything in its proper place. Everything. Almost everything. Exhausted, I am, as sleep has been manic. But I can tackle sleep. I have that down. I don’t need much and I know how to ration caffeine.

What happens now that everything is right, for the time being? I don’t know what to do. I have zero roadways to travel into compulsion. The obsession is still there, but as a mere living photograph, I am within. Everything is in the right place.

I see places I could partake in make-work, but I don’t do that. I don’t spend my energy on things that my OCD doesn’t force. I am a slave to my OCD, and it has let me free for now. For how long, I don’t know if I am worried about that. You see, with OCD and the anxiety that comes with that, the furthest I ever think out is a month—and that’s a stretch. It is often a few hours, more common a few days.

I have those days covered.

I look at my calendar, nothing important. I am wrong in saying that. Plenty of important stuff to do—but nothing that is driven by anxiety. Those things get their own color in my calendar and that color isn’t present for this week at least.

I could dust but I don’t dust because dust is not dirt. I could create, but that requires both an energy I do not have and could be messy. I do not want to disturb anything. The energy to create is… not there. The threat of disruption, mitigated, is now boring.

This is how I have screwed up. I have taken in the pure elation of everything being in its place for three or four days now. All day. Too much of the day. I’ve done nothing but make things right and watched as they… remained right. That is good. That is now… nothing.

I believe in a overarching relativity. Waves make sense—they make everything, really. Anxiety and OCD flare-ups create valleys which create peaks. I have no peaks anymore. Everything is smooth and I do not know what to do. Smooth is too good. I messed up. I smoothed everything out.

Hell if I am going to willingly be anxious. I am avoiding that hell. In the meantime…

…smooth. A hell in its own right.

Every picture is centered, every dish is washed, everything dangerous is checked, everything is… just… there.

Smooth.

Too smooth.

I screwed up and made things all right in the world.

Too right.

So right I cannot feel foreboding.

Just smooth. Damn boring smooth.