A discovery of just how weird I really am

The older I get the more self-aware I wish I wasn’t.
Now, don’t misunderstand me – self-awareness is necessary. There are just some things I now know about myself that I would rather have stayed ignorant about.

Not important things, like realizing I can be a bit too trusting or knowing when to keep my big mouth shut and just listen;
the things I am referring to are trivial in nature and usually don’t affect anyone but me.

I’m curious, though, if other people have some of the same odd little quirks. If you would be so kind as to share those with me so I can bask in the knowledge that I’m not alone, that would be ever-so kind of you. Otherwise, I might overthink myself into a stress-induced coma.

For instance, do you get a surge of panic when the doorbell rings? I could be minding my own business in the living room and suddenly there’s an unexpected visitor at the door. I will slide my flat little keester onto the floor so fast and hide under the coffee table AND I will stay there until the coast is clear — that could be 15 minutes, it could be a week from now! If I am not expecting company, and most of the time I am not, I will not answer the door. Sorry, move along, solicitor. (Or murderer).

Or what about cleaning a hotel room before checking out? I will strip the bed, wipe the counters, pick up the trash and pretty much leave nothing for the cleaning crew to do except vacuum and put on new sheets. I’ve been known to do the same thing if I have a housekeeper coming. I know that’s what I’m paying them to do, but there’s something about someone seeing my mess that just doesn’t sit right with me.

If I’m lost while driving, that blasted radio is obviously blinding my vision and preventing me from remembering my cardinal directions. The same thing happens while looking for a parking spot. I apparently no longer have the ability to identify empty rectangles. So, bye-bye-bye Justin Timberlake, you gotta go.

When someone is talking, I have learned that I don’t look into their eyes. I watch their mouth. Don’t ask me when I noticed this little gem of a fixation, but it is quite satisfying watching the way a mouth moves.

Picture this: I walk into the grocery store and grab a cart. Almost immediately I realize this cart has a squeaky wheel that can’t tell forwards from backwards to save its life. But I’m already walking towards the produce section. I’m not even out of the cart wrangling area yet, but it’s far too late. Gimpy and I have made a commitment and I’m no quitter. So, I quickly try to trudge my way through the store sheepishly avoiding the judgy stares. It’s ok, homie. We’re in this together, my man.

I stop the microwave at 1 second just so I don’t have to hear it beep. I already have too many appliances that serenade me when they’ve completed the ONE task they were made for. Come to think of it, what if I sang a little ditty whenever I completed a task?
Bed made? Everyone gets a little “Making the Bed” by Olivia Rodrigo.
Laundry in the wash? Obviously – Don Henley’s “Dirty Laundry”.
Dinner on the table? I’m busting out “Eat It” by Weird Al from now on.

I love Skittles, but I cannot eat them until I have put them into little rainbow groups. Meaning: I divide them up by color first. Then, I arrange them into complete rainbow sets—one Skittle of each color per group. All the leftovers that have no group to go to? Banished! I give them away or, if I must, eat them all in one fell swoop. (It’s a terrible burden, but someone has to do it). Then, I rotate which color I eat first from each group so as never to start with the same color twice in a row. It is just the order of things and how it must be!

When I watch TV and need to change the volume, there must be order to it. In other words, it needs to increase or decrease by increments of 5.
20? Fine
35? Fine
47?? Absolutely not! We are not uncivilized animals!

All the clothes and shoes in my closet are organized by color. It drives me batty not being able to find my favorite hoodie! So, I made it to where I only have to curse for a fraction of the time I would have if my clothes weren’t crammed in color-coordinated sections.

I cannot relax enough to do any kind of creative project unless my house is clean. I mean dishes done, laundry put away, floors vacuumed and mopped and bed made. Honestly, it’s a curse.

Now, that I’ve written all this out, the last few quirks have made me suddenly (and painfully) aware that this article may not have accomplished what I’d hoped.
I wanted support and camaraderie.
Instead, I’ve created evidence.
Apparently, my quirks have policies and procedures.
Hell, my Skittle consuming has bylaws.

Dammit.

Okay, your turn.

What’s your weird thing?

Not your adorable little “I put ketchup on my eggs” quirk. Give me the good stuff. What’s the thing you’ve caught yourself doing and thought, why in the hell do I do that?

Please tell me. At this point, I need the reassurance.

Is it just me?