It started innocently enough; it was just a motivational tool. I don’t like to exercise, so I bargained with myself.

“Self,” I said (That’s what I call myself. I call myself, “Self.”), “just step on that Nordic Track and walk for 2,000 steps. No more, no less. That should be about a mile, and when you are done you can sit down and read for thirty minutes.”

I began to follow that routine. I took 2,000 steps. If I realized that a mile was actually 2,011 steps, well that’s too bad. My bargain was 2,000 steps no more no less.

That system of reward worked well, so I decided to try it out in the yard. “Self, just pull 1,000 weeds, no more and no less, and you can go play a game of solitaire.”

I tried it in the house, “If you will just pick up 100 things, Self. No more and no less, then you can sit down and eat 10 M & Ms while you watch Days of Our Lives.”

From there, it snowballed. I have arbitrary quotas for everything (from answering e-mails to stitching an afghan) and, yes, I sit there and count while I’m doing it. Woe be unto you if you interrupt me while I’m counting, because if I forget the number I have to start all over from number one. I won’t be happy.

I was pondering this habit of mine this morning, as I stitched 300 stitches on an afghan for Share A Square. I realized that the counting “centers” me, much as repeating the mantra, “Ohm” might center someone who is meditating. The counting helps me get things accomplished, because it seems to make tasks less “painful” if I know there is an end in sight. I was also thunderstruck by the fact that the counting is a symptom of OCD. Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder.

I wonder if that is why watching Monk makes me feel uncomfortable? Maybe I realize that all his behavior (the rituals, the handwashing, the re-arranging things, and the repeated touching) could be easy for me to begin!

Oh, that’s too scary to contemplate.

I intended to do just a silly post poking fun at OCD. But, I “googled” the disorder and quickly realized it is no laughing matter! I read an article called, “Confessions of an Obsessive,” and my heart went out to this poor woman. I had never realized how debilitating OCD can be.

I don’t really have OCD; I just display one of the symptoms. I don’t suffer from anxiety usually. There is no chance that I’m going to be compulsive about cleaning. The only time I’m obsessive about germs is after being hugged by snotty nosed little kids at the schools. I don’t want whatever bug is going around, so after they paw me, I shout, “Wipe!” I don’t think that’s unreasonable.

I’m not going to stop “counting,” because it’s really the only way I get things done. I’m about to set about my ritual of 300 stitches on an afghan, answering 13 e-mails, picking up 100 things and walking 2,000 steps.

I had to get this post done before I could begin. I bargained with myself, you see. I said that I had to write 550 words, no more no less, before I …