I’ve fallen into a trance this morning, and I like it. Not a zombie walking, brain eating type thing: more like a real-life wind-up doll trance. This is a common thing for me when my stress and anxiety levels have been high for a period of time. It’s probably an internal defense mechanism meant to give me reprieve from my own self. I wish I could live in this state always; forever and always. This is the side of me that is precise and meticulous; everything I do is deliberate. My anxious thoughts slide away and are replaced by simple instructions. Life becomes simple for a single day.
I’ve spent the morning organizing my office thoroughly. No paper was left unturned. All the unimportant small tasks have been completed; my desk is now immacculate. The funny thing is, I didn’t realize what I was doing. I just did. When I took a quick break to refill my water, it struck me. All of a sudden, I had an overwhelming sense of extreme purpose. Peaceful and easy. No extra thoughts, no worries, nothing but clear focus. Clarity without future or past — clarity of the very moment I am living.
By the end of the day, my office will look like it’s been hit with the OCD bug — guaranteed. Pens will be organized by colour and height; papers will be in there appropriate place with all edges straightened, utensils such as staplers, posted notes, and envelopes will have a new home in a cleared out drawer, and every spec of my desk will be sanatized. I love it when I get like this: I love it more when it happens at home and I go on a cleaning frenzy. I’m a neat freak as it is, but when I get all trance like, I take it to the next level. American Phsycho level — the cleaning; not the killing. I don’t kill anyone when I’m like this. I don’t kill anyone ever just to be clear.
Among other things, clutter and mess trigger my anxiety. I get very panicky when I’m in a room that is full of stuff. Luckily, clutter and mess are two things I can control in my own environment. CONTROL. The magic word: who doesn’t love a little control? When I get in this state, I feel in control. If there were some kind of magic pill that would keep me like this, I would gladly take it. If I could bottle up this place I’m in, I would take it to the magic pharmacist and we could create the magic pill ourselves. We’d be rich and famous. So rich we wouldn’t have to eat regular ketchup anymore. We’d eat fancy ketchup.