It's time to be honest about my OCD.

Looking at my house, you would NOT think the people who live here could be obsessed with anything except movies, video games, and sleeping because every pillow we've ever owned seems to have come back from the landfill and camped in our house.

And the blankets. All of my blankets are here, except for the ones my mom made when I was young because she thought polyester double-knit rummage sale clothes were a wonderful material to make into quilts.

Yep, for a while I slept under my dead grandmother's--and heck, maybe even your dead grandmother's--polyester pants suits.

I know. Ew.

So, all these blankets except ONE. I "inherited" one blanket from my grandfather. Not a quilt or anything. Just a store-bought blanket that smelled like little old man when my mom gave it to me. I don't have it any more.

I don't care if it was Grandpa Shorty's. It was butt-ugly. It was pink and green and I think it was supposed to be watermelons. Not that I have a certain decorating style or anything. I have more like a decorating intention; eventually, maybe, some day, my house will look like it does in my head. Meanwhile my walls are still white with primer spots where I've tried to cover the cheap crayon drawings Stick Girl did 7 years ago.

Anyway, it's not like this thing just wasn't my style. It wasn't ANYONE'S style except Grandma Shorty's and honestly--that woman owned some of the butt-ugliest crap I've ever seen. Her earrings were famously ugly, and I'm still kind of ticked off that she was buried in earrings that were actually tasteful.

Oh, crap. I just remembered that I still have the blanket. I saved it at the last minute because it was butt-ugly and reminded me of Grandma Shorty.

All the blankets, all the afgans, all the pillows. I'm drowning in tasteless bedding.

Where was I? Oh, yeah. How I'm OCD. A little.

Here's where the OCD comes in. I can no longer remember if I have the Butt-Ugly Watermelon Blanket or if it went to a charity. I'm going to have to go through my linen closet and look for it. Then go through my clothes closet and look for it. Then my kids' closets.

Then, and only then, will I be able to get back to my task at hand (which is irrelevant except for the fact that it has nothing to do with going in any closets at all).

Because if I don't figure out if I still have the blanket, it will sit in my subconscious forever and eat away at my karma. There is nothing to be gained by finding the answer but I still have to....

What was I talking about again? OCD. Um, yeah.

Reminds me of a bumper sticker I just saw: "Genius has its limitations. Insanity? Not so much."