To each his own. To me my own.

Hey, who moved my cheese??

I was told a long long time ago that I was a person that didn’t deal well with change. Suffice to say I’ve kicked that little issue. Oh hell – have I? With all the changes these past two years have held, guess I could say I’ve been forced to deal with change a little better. Rather, I like to think it all started a little over five years ago when I was forced to change jobs after an almost 12-year tenure. That one was a biggie.

I guess I am a little set in my ways. Just a little. But I’m also obsessive about some things. A lot. We were discussing the ‘obsessive’ in us at work the other day (okay primarily the obsessive in me). Ah, our little habits…our own eccentricities.

Hmm, if my boyfriend reads this he might not want to be my boyfriend anymore – but I’m banking on the fact that he’s already onto most of my little quirks.

I have my own personal parking spaces. Umm, at home and at work. No, it doesn’t have my name on it. At home, second one from the end. At work, perfectly centered with the front door. I get perturbed when someone takes My Spot at home – no one bothers me at work. At home when I take my trash out, I compact the air out of it – every single time. And the bag that goes back in the can will be freshly installed minus any additional air between bag and can. At all. In fact, I hate extra amounts of air in any bag – I always compress the air out of all bags I deal with (even when changing cat litter) whenever possible.

I am married to my camera. I will hold anyone and everyone up in order to get my shot – and I will get my shot. I go back to the door after I’ve locked it to ‘make sure’ and, if inside – recheck it; if outside, I give it exactly two hard tugs to make sure it won’t open. Every single time.

I am, after all, of human species. Keeping with typical Piscean fashion, I can be classified as a lazy perfectionist – a most terrible of combinations. I suffer from anxiety and calm, depression and elation, and anger and love – all at the same time. I’m odd, I’m different – and naturally me. But after all, eccentricity is a first cousin to originality…


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