If you’ve read this blog (or my other, now-retired blog) closely enough, you may have picked up on a little problem I have—OCD. And no, that doesn’t stand for Optimum Cash Dollars. Unlike Mr. Smalls, mo’ money would most definitely not create mo’ problems for me. Unfortunately, the OCD I’m referring to is Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, and not the hilarious and sometimes helpful kind where I have to count light switches or keep my belongings spic and span. My apartment is a mess. And now that I have a cat, it’s most likely covered in poop particles. Side note: Whoever said cats are cleaner than dogs has obviously never smelled a litter box. But I digress. My brand of OCD provides me with 24 hours of fear of death from a horrible disease seven days a week. Example? ‘Member when I was freaking out about my thyroid and the possibility of having rickets…in the 21st century? Then, of course, there was that one time I thought I had brain cancer. I didn’t write about that one because $3,000 in MRI bills isn’t very funny. On the bright side, at least I ended up with this sweet pic of my interior design:
Anyway, the point of all this ‘splainin isn’t just to come out as someone who suffers from a mental illness because I’m pretty sure everybody has something going on. I’m not that exciting. That said, feel free to probe me—NOT IN THAT WAY!—should you have questions about OCD, unless your advice or query is about whether I’ve sought professional help. I have and it helped me tremendously.
So what’s the point then?
*A reader raises his hand*
Yes, you there in the back?
“Is it to demonstrate how not to begin an essay…?”
F*ck you. No. The point is to wish myself a Happy Belated Birthday (it was July 29), or rather a Happy Still-Not-Dead Day. Despite all the germs, viruses and bacteria that are out there just waiting to kill me, I’m still around and, boy, do I have big plans for my 33rd year of life. Besides continuing to not die (always goal No. 1!), I’m vowing right now to revisit or start anew that novel I began writing in 2009. I’m also going to paint more with the aim of showing in a gallery, where I’ll sell my work for OCD. Now I am talking about Optimum Cash Dollars. Thirdly, I promise to get over my stage fright and perform at a SpeakeasyDC or other storytelling event. Fourthly, I’m going to read a lot more books. Hell, if I think I’m ready to write one, I damn well better study the craft. And finally, I promise to write more essays like this. Except better. I miss blogging.
Maybe Definitely because of the instant gratification it provided (HINT: COMMENTS WELCOMED AND ENCOURAGED!), but also because it kept my (tumor free!) mind sharp. Like a dull pencil. It might not be able to cut anything, but it sure can stab the sh*t out of something soft. I don’t know what that metaphor is supposed to mean. Gimme time…