Counting is something I do pretty obsessively, which is odd given I don’t understand numbers. I am always counting – steps, things I can see, the number of times I touch something, days from something, days til something – not noticeably, in my head. I was going to say that I don’t count in an OCD way but then realised I can’t stop counting so maybe it is.
It is three months since the anxiety came back to bite me, five weeks since I last took any PRN medication, two weeks since the school holidays started, two weeks and two days since I last saw my psych, a week and a day – she cancelled this week’s appointment – since I last saw my CPN, a week since the garden was finally finished.
One day until my next night off while my daughter is with himself, five days til I next see my CPN, six days til I next see my psych, a week until I have finally finished the six week withdrawal from PRN diazepam so that hopefully a low dose when needed will work again, five weeks and two days until school starts again.
I won’t bore you with how many steps everything is, or how many of this or that I have in my house. But I know. Counting is something I’ve always done, and will probably always do. It doesn’t interfere with my daily life so I see no reason to ponder why I do it, or to try not to do it.