Archive
04/03/09 - (1)
OCD
When the price for perfection gets intolerably, agonizingly high, What does your garden-variety OCD guy or gal do? Typically, he/she presses ahead, on all ninety-nine cylinders.
Indeed, what's the alternative? Failure? Disgrace? Humiliation? Self-flagellation? Suicide? Face it, for people who do not know how or when to say no,
Saying no is just not a viable option to "Yes, I can, must," Any more than stopping the heart, to give it a breather, Would make breathing any easier, existence any less restive.
So it's damn the torpedoes, pedal to the metal, banzai, 24/7, For your Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder folks, Regardless the cost to their health, social life, emotional stability.
No other choice you might have has a tongue, a voice, And if it did, it would have no teeth, to reinforce its mandate To slow down, be satisfied with a job not always quite complete,
For owning up to that ubiquitous, inevictable truth: human error. Trapped, you withdraw into your whirlpool's relentless vortex, Which drains into a never-disappearing abyss.
04/03/09 - (1)
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