Resistance to Correction

There's this problem I have right now that I'm afraid I cannot correct.  I'm not terribly OCD (I just have a kind of mild case of it), but there are certain ground rules that I try to follow to keep with my idea of being clean.  I don't like to smell bad; I used to chastise my mother if she tried to buy me something unscented:  i.e.: hairspray, deodorant.  The point of both of these products is to add good smells to your aroma; clearly buying UNSCENTED defeats the purpose.  Don't worry, though; my mom learned.  Additionally, I don't like to re-wear clothes.  I'll take a second to emphasize what kind of clothes:  ALL of them (yes, jeans are included).  I know there are people out there who wear clothes over and over and over again, but it just doesn't sit right with me.  I feel like a scuzzball and can't shake the feeling that I probably smell like pee or something (because that's what ALL reworn clothes MUST smell like) and then I'm back to worrying about smelling badly, which is a legitimate fear that I have.  Although I will admit that ever since having to pay for my laundry at $4 per load ($2 to wash and $2 to dry = disgusting), I've reworn a couple of times.  However, these instances were few and far between and they were emergency situations.  Since then, I have purchased my own laundry card on which I put my own ridiculous sums of money and regularly do laundry so as to avoid the whole scuzzbucket scenario.

While I am a fan of pets, I do not think it's acceptable for the common walkerby to be able to distinguish that you own a pet based solely on outward appearances.  Pet hair is a no-no and pet stench is a definite no.  I, however, take it one step further.  After I touch anything that is even remotely related to a pet (the pet included), I immediately wash my hands.  Mind you, I am a pet owner myself and lived with two beagles in my home.  Yes, any time that I touched their food/water bowls or even just simply touched their food after having scooped it out, I washed my hands.  That also goes for after having touched a leash, a pet toy, and of course them.  I feel as though other people aren't so strict when it comes to hand washing after contact of pets.  I think it's gross.  My hands just really can't stand it.  I'm not even going to breach the topic of one of their tongues coming in contact with my hands let alone my face.  Um, kisses?  No, thanks!

Now that I've digressed far off the topic that I had originally planned to address, I would like to speak a minute about this whole hand washing concept.  Clearly I think it's advantageous to wash your hands after coming in contact with a pet (be it a dog, cat, bunny, or iguana).  However, I also feel that using the restroom, picking your nose, or scratching your ear all induce a hand washing scenario.  Everybody is aware that hot water is preferable in this process because the elevated temperature of the water denatures proteins and essentially disables their functionality.  (Obviously this does not work for EVERY single bacteria because there's this thing called "resistance" and "evolution," but that's a topic for another day.)   I, also, am attuned to this fact and use it for what it's worth since I don't like any part of me to be dirty.  However, being the very busy individual that I am, I don't particularly have the time or energy to devote to adjusting the knobs three thousand times to achieve the ideal temperature for hand washing that is not too hot but also not too cold that it is ineffective against the bacteria on my hands.  Recall, though, that I am a believer in this whole hot water phenomenon.  I thought I was being clever when I conjured up this genius solution that is not so genius at all:  I'll fight with neither the hot knob nor the cold knob; I'll simply use the hot water and just be really fast.  However, if I didn't end up washing my hands speedy-Superman-fast, then i would face the scalding sensation that typically follows the onslaught of piping hot water pouring over my fleshy, vulnerable hands.  The thing that I have found through many trials is this:  I am NEVER quick enough to escape this burning painfest.  Nonetheless, I still think that one of these days I will, and I continue on with my method in the hopes that the water will take that extra second before it reaches scorching so I have enough time to rinse off the suds from the soap.

I heard somewhere that insanity is defined as repeating the same process and expecting a different result.  Not only am I using the same method with the same result every time, but I am CONVINCED that I will one day be successful and walk away without red, glowing hands.  Either I'm insane, an optimist, or just too conservative to adjust my ways.

Oh yeah, that guy I heard the insanity thing from was Einstein.  Go figure:

I thought that Einstein looked the cutest in this one.

I also decided that I should give a realistic example of this statement that I feel we all can relate to:

Fear of losing playfulness....

This is a legit fear for me::: What if I get too old and stop playing?  I can't even imagine a world where I am not laughing or skipping or being goofy in some way.  People look at me like I'm a complete wacko, and the thing is? I'm okay with that.  I know then that I am having a bit more fun than the person looking at me with that cockeyed expression.

Currently one of the funnest times that I have is when I get off the subway -- in those big exit doors.  I arrive at City Hall station and am simply dreading having to walk down the platform to the never ending green stairwell.  Walking up a bunch of stairs after a long day is just not my thing, especially with a backpack carrying the equivalence of a corpse hoisted on my back.  My saving grace, however, is when I near the top of the stairs.  The feeling of dread seems to evaporate at an exponential rate as my mind registers the joy ahead.  And then it's in sight dead ahead - the beauty of the turnstile exit gates with their glimmering silver tinkling at me.  My pace quickens and I'm swelled with euphoria at the event that's about to take place.  I reach out my right hand to have the soft flesh make contact with the cool, smooth metal surface of the bar.  My right foot automatically finds its place on the first rung of the strong metal.  My left hand settles into its grip next to my right.  Then there's the push off.  I push off the concrete with my left foot and I'm sailing on a cloud of pure bliss.  The wind sweeps my hair and caresses my face, and I just want to say "weee!" to make it all that more enjoyable.  (Sometimes I actually do.)  I reach the other side and am completely satisfied.  Maybe not any less tired than I had been before my subway ride but refreshed in a psychological way that propels me forward on my walk home.

This is where my concern comes in::: When you're 27, you don't do things like this.  What's worse is that you don't WANT to.  I don't want to lose what makes me me - the laughter and the simple fun that I have.  The things that I do last all of but a single moment, but I enjoy to the absolute fullest and beyond that to the point of ridiculosity.  I don't want to be old and miserable and not even WANT to have fun with simple things.

I will definitely try to retain this characteristic of myself, but I'm fighting something whose weapons may be more deadly than I have defenses for: time.