#controlfreak
I have a favorite spoon. And a bowl and a cooking utensil and a coffee cup. After speaking to a friend, I'm now on the lookout for a favorite fork. Why are they my favorites? I dunno really. They bring me comfort. For me, there's something about sameness; using the same thing, doing the same thing, eating the same thing over and over again. If I do something once/use something once, there's a good chance I'll do it again. And again. And it'll become habit. It's not that I have an addictive personality, even though some may see it that way. One taste of something and I'm hooked. But it's not like that. I'm not like that. I'm a control freak. There's no more concise way to say it. It's that control - the control I exercise over 99% of my life - that keeps me sane.
Odd, right? Not really. Control equals sanity. I'm here to tell you that it sure didn't in the psychology textbooks I read in college. Control meant a "disease" like obsessive compulsive disorder, too much hand washing, the meticulous organization of spice racks, and an inability to wear the color red on Thursdays. My version of control presents a bit differently. I'm not textbook OCD (I'm not "textbook" anything so put the book down). I don't ROY G BIV my closet or alphabetize my pantry, nor do I care if I leave the coffee maker on (My Keurig has an auto-shut off so don't anyone freak out). I'm not about trying to control people either. I had sister with a really strong sense of who she was and what she wanted nearly from birth and the addition of a younger sister did little to dissuade or discourage her. I learned at a frighteningly young age that attempting to control another human being (at least for me) wasn't going to work. Ever.
So, what do I control? Just about everything else in my world that can be controlled. Anything that can contribute to sameness. I wake up at virtually the same time everyday, follow the same morning routine (depending on if it's a workday or a day-off), eat nearly the same thing throughout the day, count the same calories, do the same evening routine, including watching the same thing (Streaming series are awesome. Currently I'm on Season 8 of 15 of "Grey's Anatomy."), follow the same going-to-bed routine. What else? When I go anywhere with a large parking lot - gym, grocery store, work - I always park in the same vicinity (I'm not crazy enough to need the exact same parking place). At the gym, I use the one of two elliptical trainers and always choose the same locker (#27) in the locker room. I use the same stall in the bathroom at work. My keys go on a hook, Dylan's leash goes on another, and, since going to IKEA last week, my jacket goes on yet another. I listen to the same station on Pandora (I'm listening to it right now). I often listen to the same song over and over again when I write (though not today) or simply just because I want to hear it over and over. When I'm a regular at a coffee place, I sit in the same seat (There's a booth at Lola Savannah in Lakeway, Texas where I wrote 95% of my novel). I untie my shoes when I take them off and put them away on the shoe rack in my closet. I place the remotes back on the TV stand when I'm done using them. Both my laptop bags have a place. My Tupperware is organized (I don't have much so don't be too impressed). I run the same routes (Ask me why I haven't been running much since moving...).
What does all this routine and control do for me? It limits variables. Variables generate anxiety. Anxiety dissipates sanity. Sanity isn't optional. Ah, what about people, you ask? Yeah.....about that. People add variables. Variables generate anxiety. Anxiety dissipates sanity. Sanity isn't optional. Means I don't do a whole lot of people. And any person I add to the more intimate side of my world will have to deal with all of it, all of my routines and control. Lemme tell you, that's a big ask. "Hey so, in addition to this favorite spoon I insist upon eating my oatmeal and yogurt with, I get up three hours before work to workout and I prefer - with slight, nearly invisible to the untrained eye variations - to eat the same thing, all the time. But, it's not OCD like I won't get weird if the ATM doesn't face all my bills the same way or if you f*** with the organization of my silverware drawer." On what date do you trot that out? I mean I'm all about honesty and being up front, so I'm thinking - recall I'm fifty, shading on toward the winter of my existence, and I abhor wasted time - it's gotta come out on or around Date #3. Because, SERIOUSLY, if you break it to me that you like Insane Clown Posse, have a pet ball python, or insinuate that leg shaving is over-rated once I start kinda liking you, I'm gonna be pissed. I feel it's only right that I return the favor. I'm not saying you need to lead with the weird sh**, but you have to get it out in the open early.
To look at me, you'd never assume I'm *this* weird. I present normal. Well, as normal as anyone. I mean you have to have a few underlying assumptions about some people, but those people wear PJs in public, have neck tattoos, or have full conversations with people not currently present. But me...I seem ok. Hell, most people don't even think I'm an introvert. Surely - surely - these people also assume I'm within a standard deviation of normal.
And they'd be wrong.
Look, I'm good with all of it. I conceal my oddness behind closed doors, turn down a lot of invitations, and keep my excursions out amid "variables" to a minimum. How in the Hell do I do all the traveling I do? I create routines, quickly find favorite places that I frequent, and my hotel room - however small and windowless it might be - becomes my inner sanctum, my safe space. I have learned to work with my introversion and, in turn, make it work for me. It is what it is. Because sanity needs to be what it is - Continuously present. No substitutions accepted.
Odd, right? Not really. Control equals sanity. I'm here to tell you that it sure didn't in the psychology textbooks I read in college. Control meant a "disease" like obsessive compulsive disorder, too much hand washing, the meticulous organization of spice racks, and an inability to wear the color red on Thursdays. My version of control presents a bit differently. I'm not textbook OCD (I'm not "textbook" anything so put the book down). I don't ROY G BIV my closet or alphabetize my pantry, nor do I care if I leave the coffee maker on (My Keurig has an auto-shut off so don't anyone freak out). I'm not about trying to control people either. I had sister with a really strong sense of who she was and what she wanted nearly from birth and the addition of a younger sister did little to dissuade or discourage her. I learned at a frighteningly young age that attempting to control another human being (at least for me) wasn't going to work. Ever.
So, what do I control? Just about everything else in my world that can be controlled. Anything that can contribute to sameness. I wake up at virtually the same time everyday, follow the same morning routine (depending on if it's a workday or a day-off), eat nearly the same thing throughout the day, count the same calories, do the same evening routine, including watching the same thing (Streaming series are awesome. Currently I'm on Season 8 of 15 of "Grey's Anatomy."), follow the same going-to-bed routine. What else? When I go anywhere with a large parking lot - gym, grocery store, work - I always park in the same vicinity (I'm not crazy enough to need the exact same parking place). At the gym, I use the one of two elliptical trainers and always choose the same locker (#27) in the locker room. I use the same stall in the bathroom at work. My keys go on a hook, Dylan's leash goes on another, and, since going to IKEA last week, my jacket goes on yet another. I listen to the same station on Pandora (I'm listening to it right now). I often listen to the same song over and over again when I write (though not today) or simply just because I want to hear it over and over. When I'm a regular at a coffee place, I sit in the same seat (There's a booth at Lola Savannah in Lakeway, Texas where I wrote 95% of my novel). I untie my shoes when I take them off and put them away on the shoe rack in my closet. I place the remotes back on the TV stand when I'm done using them. Both my laptop bags have a place. My Tupperware is organized (I don't have much so don't be too impressed). I run the same routes (Ask me why I haven't been running much since moving...).
What does all this routine and control do for me? It limits variables. Variables generate anxiety. Anxiety dissipates sanity. Sanity isn't optional. Ah, what about people, you ask? Yeah.....about that. People add variables. Variables generate anxiety. Anxiety dissipates sanity. Sanity isn't optional. Means I don't do a whole lot of people. And any person I add to the more intimate side of my world will have to deal with all of it, all of my routines and control. Lemme tell you, that's a big ask. "Hey so, in addition to this favorite spoon I insist upon eating my oatmeal and yogurt with, I get up three hours before work to workout and I prefer - with slight, nearly invisible to the untrained eye variations - to eat the same thing, all the time. But, it's not OCD like I won't get weird if the ATM doesn't face all my bills the same way or if you f*** with the organization of my silverware drawer." On what date do you trot that out? I mean I'm all about honesty and being up front, so I'm thinking - recall I'm fifty, shading on toward the winter of my existence, and I abhor wasted time - it's gotta come out on or around Date #3. Because, SERIOUSLY, if you break it to me that you like Insane Clown Posse, have a pet ball python, or insinuate that leg shaving is over-rated once I start kinda liking you, I'm gonna be pissed. I feel it's only right that I return the favor. I'm not saying you need to lead with the weird sh**, but you have to get it out in the open early.
To look at me, you'd never assume I'm *this* weird. I present normal. Well, as normal as anyone. I mean you have to have a few underlying assumptions about some people, but those people wear PJs in public, have neck tattoos, or have full conversations with people not currently present. But me...I seem ok. Hell, most people don't even think I'm an introvert. Surely - surely - these people also assume I'm within a standard deviation of normal.
And they'd be wrong.
Look, I'm good with all of it. I conceal my oddness behind closed doors, turn down a lot of invitations, and keep my excursions out amid "variables" to a minimum. How in the Hell do I do all the traveling I do? I create routines, quickly find favorite places that I frequent, and my hotel room - however small and windowless it might be - becomes my inner sanctum, my safe space. I have learned to work with my introversion and, in turn, make it work for me. It is what it is. Because sanity needs to be what it is - Continuously present. No substitutions accepted.
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