The Satisfaction that Mild Obsessive Compulsive Disorder Can Create

My daughter, Billie-Mae, sent me a photo of her & her cupboard this evening. I was thrilled. 

Not only is everything organised in neat piles according to their species (e.g. shorts) but she has set up a Clothing Database on her computer which will help  keep tabs on her continually expanding wardrobe. Because she is a Scientific Person (concurrently studying two Bachelor of Science degrees in Psychology & Geology), she loves nothing more than Spreadsheets & databases. I wouldn't know what a Spreadsheet looked like. She also mentioned a rather intricate system of Colour-Coding the Database which I thought sounded Genius, but I couldn't follow. Not that I'm trying to portray myself as dim. Heaven forbid!

All this Serendipitiously (possibly not a proper word, & if it is, certainly not a word I'm spelling correctly ) dovetails into a blog entry I read yesterday in Linda Grant's, The Thoughtful Dresser.

Linda waxed lyrical about this girls gadget that you can get for your iPhone. All you need to do is photograph your entire wardrobe including handbags & shoes etc & then you can arrange everything into outfits. You can also work out how much value for money you get for each item by recording every time you wear it. This is  a concept that was obviously stolen from that great late nineties film, 'Clueless', where the main character, played by Alicia Silverstone had a v. similar set up involving her bedroom computer & an automated wardrobe. I thought it was hilarious at the time. And I still think it is. 

But what a yawn to do it In Real Life. Who, in their Right Mind would be prepared to photograph every item of clothing they own, I ask?

As I type, I uncharacteristically realise how Silly I Sound.  Just about every stitch of clothing I put on my back is obsessively photographed & posted on my flickr site.

But back to Real Wardrobes.

I think that there is nothing quite like the Satisfaction gained from opening a Wardrobe Door & finding everything beautifully arranged. In my case, my mind is instantly tricked into thinking that I've got everything under control ,which is an Absolute Godsend.

 In Billie-Mae's case, I suspect she's observing her own behaviour with some bemusement. She wonders if perhaps  she has a Mild Case of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.

I just think she is Wonderful.

Don't Call on Me to Save Your Life

I've always been rather curious about the meaning of the term, 'Busman's Holiday'. In fact, I've hardly ever heard anyone ever say it. But I know it exists. It was the title of a Dorothy M. Sayers crime novel of the 1930s that I don't remember reading.

But  even though I really don't know the exact meaning of 'Busman's Holiday', I like to think that I've just had one. You know, fun & carefree, or about as carefree as a Woman who's been Dumped for Maybe Ten Weeks can get.

As you can probably work out from the picture, the holiday is Now Over, although you may think that practising CPR on an armless mannequin is a Fun Holiday Activity. After all, I did visit the cemetery whilst on holiday. 

Yes, it was Back in the Saddle this morning & first cab off the rank in a Pupil Free Day was the  CPR Refresher Course. Whilst I was sitting there listening to the Hunky Manmuffin from the Royal SurfLifesaving Association tell us gruesome tales   about  the dangers of saving lives, I wondered how many times have I actually sat through this material.  And when was the first time I heard it. I think I was  about twelve &  since then, I've probably heard it on average of once every couple of years.

And guess what?

I still don't know a thing. I was even pumping the mannequin in the wrong spot.

But don't think I don't have a Back-Up Plan. If one of my students suddenly went unconscious I'd run out of the classroom screaming for help. Or if I was perhaps a little calmer, I would simply direct one of my other students to perform CPR. I'm sure someone around me would know it.

But it just occurred to me that if a student went unconscious, they'd probably be dead before I'd notice. 

The Expectant Boots

 Our city apartment is in Kings Cross, which is the Bad Behaviour Capital of Australia. It's the Spiritual Home for those who Really Love getting Shitfaced & Who Don't Mind Throwing Up All Over the Pavement Afterwards. 

So, as I plod down the hill on my way to school each day, I often notice evidence of the previous night's revelry. It's rarely a pretty sight.

But this morning, I walked out into the cold & spied this sprightly pair of boots sitting expectantly in a doorway. For once, I allowed myself to wonder what was the story behind the boots & why they were waiting there. 

Of course, I'll never know.