On my list of things that I am feeling even more neurotic than my standardish garden-variety neuroses:
1) Being on time. Daver, it appears after six of the longest happiest years of my life, might actually be allergic to being punctual. Not, you see, because he is TRYING to drive my blood pressure into the high 200′s, but because he dawdles.
I’d prefer to be at least 15 minutes early; maybe even more like 30, so watching him do just one more thing on his Linux box makes me wild. I suppose having the Sausages is a great cover for our constant, uninterrupted tardiness.
2) Having a clean sink. My bedroom is STILL not quite unpacked from BlogHer–my bedroom, I should add, is also the place that my daughter sleeps so lightly that the cat farting in the basement can make her eyes open like that kid from The Exorcist. So getting in there to clean it must be when I am without kids.
But anyway. Having a dirty sink is one of those things I can’t handle. I can be blitzed from the night before, so zonked from my Lunesta that I’m hallucinating fleets of rabid Attack Squirrels bombarding me from strategically placed corners of the kitchen, and still, you will find me scrubbing pans and loading them dutifully into the dishwasher.
3) Having an empty dishwasher. I cannot handle the thought of having clean dishes in the dishwasher that haven’t been put happily back to their ickle homes in my cupboards. I also hate emptying the dishwasher like it was a Nazi Hitler who ate babies–similar to how I feel about getting gas–so it’s fortunate that my eldest can help.
4) Running out of the sweet, sweet nectar of the Gods, Diet Coke. Now, my love affair with all things nutra-sweetly kissed by that delicious combination of chemicals and tin, is well documented. Dave has often considered putting in a soda fountain to save money on Diet Coke–Diet Pepsi will NOT do, sir, NO–but so far, nothing.
Why yes, yes I am an addict. I swear on all that is holy that Coca-Cola puts something into DC cans to make we weight-obsessed women go ga-ga over it, and I’m not going to complain. Certainly, water is better for me. But water is NOT Diet Coke, the yardstick to which all liquids are measured. And is therefore sub-standardly good.
Besides, there is water in Diet Coke.
Daver calls it “battery acid” which is something I take with several tons of salt, as he is the person who will eat not only beef sticks, but pig skins. So he’s not exactly one to talk on the relative flavor of things.
5) Blogging. On the days that I am not quite sure what I feel like talking about, I feel anxious and sweaty until I am able to find something more that I can pollute The Internet with. Because Lord knows, the Internet will not be able to handle it, and the world may stop turning if I can’t blather on and on about my butt cheeks or something.
Unrelatedly but kind of related if you squint kinda, I am trying to respond to comments IN the box of your initial comment. Because, yeah.
So what are YOU feeling neurotic about today, Internet?