This post will probably bring out the OCD in me. Huh? Yeah.. that one I seemed to have forgotten. I don’t do odds. For some reason, ending on an odd number makes everything feel incomplete. It bugs the shit out of me.

I was born on an even date. The year, month, and number are all even numbers.

I have four kids. I’m on my second marriage. It does bug me that I have 3 boys and 1 girl. But I have no plans on having more kids. My nerves only go so far. I can’t do 6. That’s too much for me.

When I write my novels, I make sure to end on an even chapter. I’ll do everything I can to end on an even page. If I can end on an even word count, I’m happy. Today is a happy day because my first novel knocked all three things for me. I can relax for a change.

Even when I go to the gym, everything has to be an even number. 30 minutes here, 30 minutes there. I don’t do 45 mins in anything. I’ll order books in even numbers. I’ll either order 2 or 4 at the most. I can’t stand one here or one there.

I don’t know why I’m this way. Control freak much? It’s just neat and orderly. At least I don’t time sex. That would be overboard. I assume this is a part of OCD. Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. You don’t want to see my bookshelf. It’s all in order. I have it sectioned off in fantasy, horror, vampires, classic lit, and mystery. I have all books in a series together. I also have any other book the author wrote, next to their books. The rainbow shelf thing drives me crazy. And I don’t like to break up series for superficial means. Cans have to be readable and in a line. It bugs me when I can’t read the label.

Hell… I even organize my emails. I can’t stand not being organized. And you don’t want to see my dresser. That’s organized, too. The kids’ dressers are organized as well. It drives me nuts to put shirts with socks. My mom used to shove shit in a drawer until the drawer broke. I can’t stand a dirty house. It bugs me. Maybe it’s just a “me” thing. A never-ending “me” thing.

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