Well, don't put me in charge if you want it done half-assed

It's almost like some people don't realize that I am OCD. Perhaps I do a good job of hiding it with "normal" people? I dunno. My leads group made me VP. One of the responsibilities is to keep track of attendance and send out nastygrams to people who don't come. I repeat, I must keep track of attendance and stalk people who fail to show.

This is as close to my dream job as we can get.

Picture it: Being informed of my responsibilities, I swiftly set out to follow them. I made me up an attendance roster with all the dates through the end of the year, marking off the holidays and dates we are off for special events. Then I printed it out, cut it down to size, and put it in my day planner, under the tab marked for the leads group.

For the past month I've kept track of attendance. Some people don't come. I call them. Some are nice. Some are miffy. Some never call me back. Now it's time to send the letters. I get an evil sense of pleasure from this. Can you tell?

I'm so good at these obsessive activities. Sometimes I think I'd be better as the attendance lady at a school than a graphic designer. The one in the principals office with the blue hair in a bun. But with the OCD comes the short attention span. I get off topic so often. I think I'm OCD to compensate for my bi-polarism. When I don't have enough to do, I start to think about things. Thinking can sometimes be good, but too much time to think and I end up in a downward spiral of depression. Before you know it, I'm flat on my back in the kitchen, with three empty cake containers littered around me. Dazed. Crying. Wondering what the hell I've gotten myself into. Why? Why!

This is where my OCD kicks in. I glance around and notice how, oh ma ga, dirty the floor is! Ack! Must. Scrub. It. Now.

Pretty soon, my house is clean, and I ain't got them blues no more.