Oh Cee Dee

I was merrily typing away when it happened: I went to move my mouse and whacked my hand into my clipboard.

"I don't want that right there," I thought. And then, swoooooosh, the OCD kicked in. "I don't want ANY OF THIS HERE WHY IS THERE SO MUCH WHYYYYYYY."

I feel like people who have brains that work properly don't understand the way anxiety and OCD actually cripple you. It's not an issue of choosing to clean over continuing to type. I HAVE to. When the situation at my desk strikes me as being "wrong" -- whatever that means -- I can't do anything until it is "right" because the only thing my poor, tired brain can focus on is that things are not okay and they need to be made to be correct. Once they are correct, I can go back to working.

This is why, when people come to my house and comment on how tidy it is, I feel like it's not something I can actually take credit for. I don't clean and keep it neat because I feel like I want to be cleaning all of the time. I do it because I have to, because I can't function in a space that is cluttered or messy. I'd like to? But I can't rest in that kind of a space. My brain won't let me. It insists that we have to have order so that we can function.

So: the desk.

The problem with my desk is that it's not REALLY a desk. It's a table. There are no drawers, so I can't tuck things away. And there are cables everywhere, and my Sherlocks don't really have anyplace to live. It's ... It's a lot, visually. So it got to be too much. I hid some note pads and books in my computer bag and am also going to stash other stuff in my purse so I can get them off the workspace. I was able to clear out enough space so that I don't feel cramped and cluttered and can THINK.

It's much easier to write when I can think.