I have always had a tendency to be rather obsessive/ compulsive when it comes to writing notes.
I have recently neglected my note making compulsion and taken up other pass times of an obsessive nature that fill the driving urge of compulsion, but leave little in the way of the production of anything reasonable, constructive, or noteworthy.
On a day like any other, when my delicately weighted sense of compulsion slipped slightly towards a negative analysis of my obsession, I did the stupidest thing I could possibly do. I took the focus off my tunned balancing act and in an attitude of comparison, looked around at the general populace and their obsessive habits and said to myself:
“Notes…good…? Hmm…maybe not so good!
Openly obsessive/ compulsive….? No, defiantly not good!”
and continuing in the down ward spiral by thinking, that in order to ‘fit’ socially I must change my obsessive note taking habit to a publicly acceptable everyone’s doing it sort of one…!
As in all things when I am at my most vunerable, life always has a way of sending me the fart hidden in the whoopee cushion.
I was descended upon by a wonderful friend who, well aware of my compulsive habits, thought it would be fun to see what would happen if he introduced me to one of his socially acceptable obsessive/ compulsive habits: FaceBook…hmmm!!!
Bless him!!!… Not:
True degradation of my obsession/ compulsive nature closed around me when I found FaceBook that day. A very dark cloud shut out the sun in my house for months, while in vast cyberspace applications I thumbed my compulsions away writing platitudes to get points, like a monkey dances for peanuts.
Oh the sadness of reducing my talent for writing notes down to such tedium. No longer could I relish the delight reminiscent of the post-coitial; which was obtained whenever I would review my obsessive/ compulsive production. Ah the momentary bliss of achievement…now gone when I pushed the FaceBook sign-in button and left, hours later with nothing.
Frequently I would let out too subtle signs of distress to my friends as to a measure of imbalance lurking behind my walls, but never did I pertain to the exact nature of the imbalance…and they all thought; well she is just an obsessive artist anyway isn’t that the nature of that sort of business…
Trapped and dry I broached on the subject of an obsessive FaceBook compulsion to my friend. He politely informed me:
“Do as I say not say as I do”, and went of in search of his other current compulsive habit…looking at the world through a wine glass in search of the never ending bottom of a bottle… All in the name of culturally acceptable fun (not obsession) mind you, his Internet back told me,..yer right!
“Do as I say, not say as I Do”. Yes of course…
A well developed sense of apathy and distain for my own compulsive habits began to gather momentum, (but not for Face Book of course), as my need for obsession was being meet but not for production.
Those with obsessive/ compulsive habits would understand this better, because hey; if you like to rip paper up into tiny pieces at least you still have the wonderful pile of paper at the end, all that lovely ripping sound in your ears, and the heavenly aroma of paper particles stimulating your nose for hours after.
Finally upon realising that FaceBook had dulled my obsessions and stripped my compulsive production to a point where I was forever leaving but never arriving. I asked myself where that point of departure had been for me to arrive at such a destination…
“Ah… comparison,” was the answer,
to the question: “to note or not to note”
It was then that I decided that, the to note was one of the most notable to its cause. As it is only when the obsessive cause is generator of the question and the compulsive process fulfils the question, that anything note worthy is brought into production.
The consumptive compulsion minus any useful production that is passed of as a socially acceptable obsession, turns you into a fool on his hands and knees in the blinding hot sun, trying to find the infinite point of π with an ever increasing magnifying glass in a circle drawn in the sand.
A tongue in cheek piece of neuroticism on: the dangers of social comparison, when you are an artist with obsessive compulsive habits who likes to write notes.