organized chaos

O.C.D. as in Obsessive Compulsive Disorder

As in, “I need to turn the light on and off 6 times before I leave a room.

As in, “If I don’t scrub my hands raw, the germs will form a coup.”

As in, “Tiny pieces of trash that most people would ignore seem so big that they threaten to overtake me.”

Any guesses on what exactly My Man is doing with that Shop Vac?

If you’d like to know, read on. If this seems a little too much for your faint heart, try this.

Every time we go through the back yard to get into the house, My Man, Charlie gripes about the state of the yard. It sends his mind into pandemonium and makes him ever so cranky. Even when I thought it looked passable, his mouth would froth a little and we’d have a heated debate over his expectations. After all, we live with these guys:

But really the culprit is the lack of grass due to the rocks, and the numerous rocks preventing any nice grass to grow, and because of those two interchangeable facts, you can see every bit of the torn blue tarp from the trampoline. Shreds smaller than my fingernail. It happens with normal wear and tear.

So this year Charlie decided to tackle that yard and actually do some labor on Labor Day. He’s not really an outside kind of guy. He grabbed the gremlins-minus Stripe; he was on his coffee break, and gave them plastic sacks and spent about an hour sitting on the ground picking up these pieces smaller than my fingernail.

Then he came in, and informed me that he was taking my vacuum outside.

To vacuum.

The yard.

I did try to protest, but folks, I’ve lived with this OCD crap for 11 years, and I’m just a bit apathetic at this point. I merely informed him that were he to break my vacuum, I would be purchasing another right away.

Not long after that, he and the gremlins, complete with mournful, pathetic faces were back to picking up the pieces by hand. I just kept to my inside tasks and tried to think about raindrops and roses.

Then Charlie came in and informed me the task was futile. My heart might’ve stopped for a wee second. Was this a breakthrough? Was this the beginning of the end? What was this momentary sanity?

Out of his next breath he proclaimed that he needed a Shop Vac. And besides he would need it for when he paints the house.

I said, “Charlie. Nobody vacuums their yards.”

He said, “Carrie. There’s just no other way to do it. How am I supposed to get all those little pieces?”

I said, “You’re not. Most people cover them with dirt. Or rake them into the dirt. Or just ignore them and let God and nature take care of them.”

He said, “Most people’s yards don’t look like crap.”

I said, “Why don’t you take a quick tour of the neighborhood and look a little closer at people’s yards, then.”

He said, “Nothin’ doin’.”

Ok not really ‘nothin’ doin”, but something like that. I gave up. I secretly hoped our handy man neighbor would happen home at the same time Charlie fired up that vacuum and started sucking up dirt and rocks and little blue tarp. I wanted so badly for another man to call him on his odd behavior.

While he went to Walmart to purchase the instrument that would take away what tiny shred of dignity I have left in the neighbors eye’s, I called my sister. She cracked up. Of course.

She told me what I already knew. Just let it go. Let him do what he feels he needs to do. I told her, “I’m taking a picture of this. And I’m putting this on my blog. But I don’t think anyone will believe me.”

So now, we’re back to this:

And the answer is yes, he’s actually vacuuming the yard. The tiny shreds of torn blue tarp fallen from the trampoline cover. I should’ve known that someday it would come to this. And no, he’s never been officially diagnosed, but I present this photo as hard evidence for my case.

And to prove what a good sport he is, and that he does have a sense of humor about the whole thing, he said I could tell all the internet folks all about our crazy day.

Maybe someone else is out there with a person suffering from a crazy need to vacuum their yard, or counts every step they take, or checks the locks compulsively. If so, you’re not alone.

And if you need to borrow my shop vac, just let me know.

(looking for this week’s Letters From the Friendly Cashier? Scroll on down)