Obsessions

There are routines that we all have. Daily, constant obsessions that we must indulge in order to feel normal. A sort of OCD for the everyman. Everywoman. Everyone, I suppose. Perhaps a need to be politically correct all the time? Some make their obsessions a tactile thing. Get up, check Facebook, check Voicemail, feel attached to the outside world. For others, it becomes an inner thing. Set an alarm, count steps, count brush strokes, feel a sense of personal peace.

These obsessions are not wrong. They are routine. They help us feel normal. But where do they come from? Watching our parents obsess and fixate I suppose. Or maybe it is from society messing with our minds to the point that all we can do to feel ordinary is control the little things. One last pathetic attempt to govern ourselves. It is amazing the power and overwhelming tranquility we can feel when our DVD collection is in alphabetical order, or every clock in the house is set to the exact time, down to the second. It helps us to sleep at night. Otherwise, we stay awake, obsessing about the little things. The things we believe we can control, and yet have not figured out how.

Maybe we obsess about obsessions. Maybe it is the very act of compulsion that keeps us moving forward in life. Maybe it is our goal to become neurotic, overbearing, and exactly like everyone else.