“I’m not in the least obsessive, it just has to be right”. Sura
I was watching the film “Panic” and the young woman has the middle aged man she met in the shrink’s waiting room stalking her. They’re in her one room apartment. He asks “what’s your favorite color?” “Green”. “Mine too.”
Pretty common response. Short. ROYGBIV. Without the IV. Nothing fancy. Sometimes a pastel; “pink”. But mostly you’re gonna get “blue” or “red” Something simple, basic. Solid. I would have a different answer.
And if I chose to look closely at that answer, I’d have to accept, that I, as suggested by many of my nearest and dearest, had a tad, a smidgen, a soupçon, a mite of compulsive behavior.
I disagree. I let a lot slide. In fact, if it involves details, you can pretty much count on me having something else to do for the duration. And I don’t seem to feel at all ashamed or culpable. Blithe.
As in, “Really. Shit. Really? You said that and I was in the room, and actually within earshot and agreed? Wow”. And that’s that. Or perhaps, in addition, “How long have you known me? What possessed you to think I had magically and against all odds become a different sort of person? Silly, hopeful mistaken you”.
Not my skill group, no sense pretending, or striving for the impossible. I don’t do details.
Now, is that compulsive behavior? No, it is not. I do chaotic. Disorderly. Pandemonic. Far removed from OCD. My idea of planning is to show up.
Ah, but here’s the rub. My color? The polychromatic dark moss green of architectural brass patinated with formula 5.117 from “The Colouring, Bronzing and Patination of Metal (using a blow torch, not therein recommended), waxed and buffed.”