I've managed to purge a lot of my obsessions.
I do laundry as needed; the piles of dirty clothing in our bedroom are a testament to my progress. I dust only when the dustbunnies threaten to claim dominion of our space. I make the bed, but rarely.
I’ve realized that while I have scant recollection of my extensive Saturday cleaning sprees, I have wonderful memories of weekends spent at the ocean or in the mountains with my rara.
Make no mistake, I’m far from cured. I’m inclined to polish the Rolex at the mere hint of a blemish, and the phone is rubbed clean of prints with each handling. If compulsion is obsession’s shadow, then I’m now frightened of shadows.
None of my mania compares to my fixation on that tiny green light. I wish the Droid had multi-colored signals¬¬—yellow means proceed with caution, red the sign of certain rejection. The color I pray for is green.
Green is affirmation. Green means go. Green clears the path so that I can take my gaze off the ground and crook it toward the sky…
