Friday, 4 December 2009


I’ll give you an overview. I eat standing up – the quicker I can consume food (integral to survival or I’d take a rain check) the quicker I can wash my plate, the quicker it will be clean and slot back into its life with the other plates on the shelf, equilibrium restored. I drink coffee in one go if there’s no coaster (most of the instances people think I’m mental are just caffeine induced trips.)

Candles are dotted around my room, and incense; pretty, domestic girly objects, but they’ll never be lit – why would I want to do that when they can remain untouched and clean? They are mere props to support the farce that I’m an ordinary functioning 24-year-old human being. I sellotape wires down. You know the ones, they protrude from your computer, your sound system your lamps, all have to be either hidden under the bed, or under tables or selotaped down to minimise the clutter.

My housemates don’t wear rubber gloves to wash up and I’m incredulous. Bare hands? BARE HANDS? It’s as serious as someone not wearing a condom or something, and I shudder at the thought. There’s a reliable stock of around 3 pairs under the sink now, last week the left hand glove got perforated by the apple corer I was cleaning and filled swiftly with dirty water. A back up is always needed or I’m faced with going to bed leaving a half-done job and sleep does not come easy.

Now I’ll attempt to dilute the drama queen approach – I wouldn’t say my OCD is outstanding, extraordinary or a textbook case. But tendencies, I’ve always had. And recently they’ve been getting worse…

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