My Space

I have a touch of O.C.D. Just a touch, but it's enough to make my life miserable sometimes.

For those who don't know, O.C.D. stands for Obssessive Compulsive Disorder. Ever watched the movie, 'As Good as it Gets,' or the TV show, 'Monk?' Those characters have it. If you haven't---hie ourself to the video store and buy/rent them---what's the matter with you?

I just have a mild case. I don't have to compulsively wipe down every room in the house with 70% alcohol or wash my hands every 5 minutes. I DO wash my hands more often that the average person but I don't consider myself as an extreme case. My O.C.D. is constrained to one thing---my bed.

My bed is sacrosanct. It represents everything that is pure in my world. Naturally, it has to be kept immaculately clean, subtly scented and covered with crisp linens at all times.

Ever since I was in grade school, I could never, ever lie down, sit or even touch my bed without taking a head-to-toe shower first. I am serious! This quirk has made it necessary to get a sofa bed for my room, purchased specifically for those times when I am too tired to take a full bath before bedtime.

I used to do a 5-hour commute to and from work every day. I remember coming home so exhausted that I would just lie down on our living room sofa and sleep there. That's not entirely because I was too tired to walk the 15 steps to my own bed. Oh no! It was because I didn't have the trusty sofa bed yet and I didn't want to dirty up my bed.

I will not change my bed linens without spraying the whole thing damp with Lysol. I have my 3 large pillows washed every couple of months, despite getting sprayed with Lysol every two weeks. Dust mites would never have a chance.

I've been trying to analyze where all this compulson came from. I've had it for as long as I can remember. I've had it even when I used to share my room with my two younger brothers and I was sleeping on the upper deck of a double bunk bed. It never went away even when I was moved up to having my own room.

Maybe that was it. Maybe that was when I started to consider my bed as a haven. It used to be my only personal space (that is if you don't consider my closet that I used to spend hours in, but that's another story). My top bunk was the only place where my brothers could not go because they were still too small to climb it. In my top bunk, it was just me, my pillows, my scary doll and I.

It was My Space.