Confessions #21 and #22

Yes, I failed to post last week. I blame it on the (little sister's) sleepover hangover I had. I was so exhausted that I was going cross-eyed while trying to stay awake during the new Pirates of the Caribbean movie. I couldn't sit the movie out though, because YAY SOCIAL INTERACTION! I did, however, pass on a more significant social gathering yesterday... but that's because eight hours with ten babies and toddlers is more powerful than any house full of twelve-year-old girls could ever hope to be. After I got home from work, I collapsed in my bed and did not crawl out until after dinner. Now my original train of thought seems to have been derailed...

My apologies for not upholding my promise! This week gets two confessions to make up for last week, and I'll do my very best not to skip a Saturday again.

Confession #21:

I am afraid of the things that go bump in the night. (Not to be confused with potential aliens, which I no longer fear.)

Well, "afraid" quite the right word. It isn't like I think something in the room is out to get me the second I close my eyes... but anytime I hear something after I've crawled into bed, I feel entirely uneasy and can't rest until I've looked around the entire room at least once to try and locate the source of the noise. I know it was probably just my air filter blowing sheet music off the stand of my nearby keyboard, or my fan rustling the bag in my garbage can, but despite scrunching my eyes shut and silently telling myself "It's NOTHING," over and over, I have to look. All around the room. Never mind that it's dark and I'm blind as a bat without my glasses. I think the only thing I've ever actually identified was a balloon, and that was years ago. (When I was little I discovered that the air conditioner will blow a helium-filled balloon around the room, with it bouncing against the ceiling. While completely innocent during the day, that repetitious thumping sounds quite ominous at night. After I figured that one out, balloons were always banished to the hall at night.)

Lately this paranoia—if that's even the right word, since I'm not actually scared of anything—has been getting worse, and I really can't explain it. Honestly, it's more of a compulsion that anything. I know whatever caused the noise is harmless, but I can't not look. Having typed that out, a thought just occurred to me. Any experts on OCD out there? Could that possibly be the cause? I've always suspected I have OCD, albeit mildly. My sister has been diagnosed and is being treated for it, so it's not that big of a stretch to think I would have it as well. I have a handful of other quirks that seem to fit the bill, but we won't get into that this week...

Ha, look at that. My blog is forcing me to rationally examine my flaws, and is resulting in revelations. Have I mentioned that there is never any planning involved in these posts?

Confession #22:

I don't count my blessings as often as I should.

That fact slapped me in the face this week and left a nasty handprint.