One Potential Defect

Obsession:  A compulsive or irrational preoccupation; an unhealthy fixation; influence or control by evil spirits without possession.

We had some work done on our home a short time ago and it went very well, no doubt helped by the fact that I was banned from the immediate premises most of the time.  Men - real men - using tools - power tools - to do construction work on my stuff is nerve racking.  I would trust a brain surgeon to do microsurgery on my brain sooner than I'd trust a guy with an electric power tool to cut up some wood - I can visualize microsurgery easier than I can visualize someone fucking around with a dowel or a shim, especially if a soffit is involved.

The job went well.  There was one defect - one potential defect - that I have, of course, honed in on as if I'm some kind of powerful, military-grade homing device.  It is something that I have a great deal of skill doing - finding defects, shortcomings, and problems.  I tried to ignore the potential defect, knowing intellectually that it was a bad emotional reaction to a very good situation, like fretting over the dent in the fender on my cherry-red Ferrari, if by "cherry-red" you mean "tarnished silver" and if by "Ferrari" you mean "Subaru."  It really stuck with me, though.  I've been in a bit of a funk the last week or so.  I get into funks sometimes that it takes a while to get out of.  Sometimes I know the raison d'etre of my funks and they can be justified, but most of the time I'm wigged out about some little thing that doesn't add up to a hill of beans.

I did my best to make the stupid obsession go somewhere else.  I've learned some little tricks in The Program that they often work well so that the stupid obsession sticks out its thumb and hitches out to LA, leaving me in peace.  But sometimes the stupid obsession gets the best of me and I can't get it to go.  This was such a case.  There may be some other things going on that I'm not acknowledging but I may just be in a down biorhythm or a funky astrological phase.  How do I know?

Finally, I broached the subject with my wife.  She was aware of the minor defect, although it didn't bother her like it did me, befitting the normal member of our hobbled duo.  Still, she agreed that it was something that at least could be addressed.  I suggested calling the guys that did the work at some point, then I called right away, wondering what was going to be different a few hours or days later besides a few more hours of pointless fretting.  The guys agreed to come out and look at the defect, even suggesting a couple of potential fixes on the phone.

I'm telling you what - stuff in my head is stuff misplaced.  GET IT OUT of my head.  This should be my motto.  My head can fashion a diamond into a turd.