The OCD spectrum: More fun than the color wheel.

I'm a list maker. Love to make lists. They help me function. They help me think. So the other night in bed, I started making a list of my OCD quirks. I believe that OCD works on a spectrum, like autism. In autism you can go from the mildest Asperger's Syndrome on down to non-functioning, full-blown autism. Well, in my humble, non-medical, never really researched opinion, OCD is the same. There are those with a few little quirks, like me (over on the lovely red, perhaps slightly orange, side of the spectrum), and there are those who cannot function in society because of their compulsions (way down in the nasty purple end of things.) Somewhere in the middle but a little more towards the blues are those people who could be on the A&E show, Obsessed. I saw that show several times. It freaked me out a little. There but for the grace of God, you know? Here is a little list of my OCD issues:

• I only like to sleep on my own pillow case. Even after laundering. I label mine and Russ' so they don't get mixed up. Hey, keep your body oil and your dead skin cells to yourself, right? I will wash my sheets if anyone else sleeps in them. Even my kids.
  
• Same with bathroom towels. I have my own color, and no one gets to use them but me.
• My toothbrush is not allowed to fraternize with anyone else's. If they touch, it's gross. Russ must keep his tooth cleaning items in his very own cabinet. (Yes, I realize we have committed the act of making children together, with all it's attendant bodily fluid swapping. Different brain compartment altogether.)
• Animal fat is gross. But I can touch it if I'm cooking so long as I wash my hands about 10 times while dealing with it.
• I will not milk the cow. Unless my husband is dying. And now that Aubrey knows how, not even then. Cow udders freak me out a little. OK, a lot.
• The volume on the TV is best when it's set at a number divisible by 5.
• My closets are fairly well-organized. Shoes must snuggle up only to their mates. Clothes are hung in a logical order (sweatshirts, long-sleeved exercise shirts, short-sleeved exercise shirts, short-sleeved casual shirts, long-sleeved casual shirts, dressy shirts [long- and short-sleeved together], skirts, dresses, and not-currently-worn-things at the end.) But, they are not color coordinated within their categories. See? I'm totally in control.
• Finally, I make lists. Lists are how I control the world. If I put it on a list, I can deal with it. When I don't use lists, I find I get stressed very easily. You see, if I forget an item that's written on a list, I can blame myself - faulty memory, whatever. But if it's not on a list and I forget it, the world is out of control and I have no power. So I make lists. Make sense?
  

Turns out my list is not nearly so long as I imagined it to be. Nor are the items particularly peculiar. Which is a comfort, because I worry about my kids. JR has issues with people touching his food, and he will not eat dairy unless it's pasteurized. And even then, he won't touch butter. Or plain milk. But he will touch dirt, and his room often looks like a tornado went through. So he's probably a lot like his mom. A little quirky, but far to the left of any problem amount of OCD. What a relief.