Obsessive Compulsive. Disorder.

“A pint of sweat, saves a gallon of blood.”
– George S. Patton

Know how I can tell I spent my youth catapulting across continents and time zones?  Apart from the various personality quirks it engendered, my ability to learn languages rather quickly, my fluid definitions of “home” and “family,” and the long-lost art of being able to keep in touch through letter writing?  Because I am an obsessive move planner.

Does this make me a packing rat?

I’ve been collecting boxes for our eventual move for over a year now (our office is a tragic sight), and I’m continually going through old clothes, knick knacks, cosmetics, random collections of pillows, pictures, books, etc.  Occasionally I send a box of things home to Snickers, or foist a bunch off on Margot when she comes by to watch movies, and at last resort I donate armfuls of stuff.

Occasionally I take it a step further.  Such as this morning.

One of my health insurance company’s benefits is that you can earn cash back for participating in health challenges – eating a bushel of vegetables a day, jogging 20 miles before breakfast, etc.  You can earn up to $200 a year per person.  And call me crazy but a year from now, when we’re living Quetzacoatl knows where, I have a sneaking suspicion that $400 could come in handy.  So J. was dragged awake and forced to endure a round of blood drawing for tests, long before we usually eat breakfast, all for $50 a year from now.

You be the judge, am I psycho or just extremely well organized?

4 thoughts on “Obsessive Compulsive. Disorder.”

  1. All I can say is “Amen”. We don’t even know where we’re going yet, but I reserved a storage space today, I’ve sold two bins of toys, given away another bin, donated a few boxes, and I’m itching for my friends to come pick up the things I told them they could have. Matthew continues to roll his eyes at me, but this move will be orderly…or else!

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