My obsessions change every week. I never did outgrow the need to know why. I still annoy the crap out of people by asking why all the time.

As a kid I was actually obsessed with honesty. I would never ever ìfibî to my parents for fear that I would burn in hell or something. I remember the first time I "lifted" (nice term for stole) a G.I. Joe action figure from Longs Drugs when I was about 9 or 10. I couldn't eat or sleep for a week until I actually walked downtown (not a very big town at the time) to Longs and returned the action figure to the store manager. He couldnít have cared less, kind of laughed at me, thus ending my compulsion with honesty.

I remember, in my pre-adolescence years, that I would not, COULD not, ever get so mad at my parents that I would either 1) tell them that I hated them or 2) use any swear word stronger than 'ass'. The very thought of my parents feeling that their only child would HATE them was just too much for me, and I thought the f-word would send me straight to hell. (Note that this was around the same time that I called Christie Dean a slut for 'frenching' 3 boys. The trollop!!) Then puberty hit. 'Nuff said.

I would count things. If we were driving in the car I would could everything that passed by the window, the faster we went the faster I tried to count.

My father fueled an obsession by repeating daily "don't walk on the grass" and keep your hands off the walls" The problem is, I can't stop doing these things now into my 30's! I'm a girl who jups as if I'm burned if I stumble a little too close to a lawn or lean against a white wall! Adding to my difficulty with the lawn stepping fear was the fear of stepping on a crack (you know, possibly breaking my mother's back...you know the rhyme) If I stepped on one, I'd say countless prayers of forgiveness (being the good Catholic school child I was) It's amazing I got through my childhood without being struck by a car since the only safe place to walk was the street.

I also suffered from acute bacteriophobia as a kid. The first time I saw the movie "What about Bob?" I actually said out loud "Hey, I used to do that!" in reference to Bill Murray's character using tissue to open doors and use pay phones. More amusingly, I developed a severe fear of choking. If I ever ate anything that was wrapped in plastic I would hold my saliva for hours afterward, worried that a tiny piece of that plastic bag would somehow be sent the wrong way down and block my windpipe. I was 7 or 8, and I was so much into medical knowledge I became a major hypocondriac. Reading an article in Reader's Digest when I was 10 convinced me that a relatively serious cold was actually Cystic Fibrosis. My parents can probably remember more of these than I can. In many ways I still am a hypocondriac, but now I worry rationally instead.

I was obsessed with not getting worms. It started because I went outside barefoot after it rained once, and when I came back in, my mother told me I could get hookworms from going outside barefoot. She then explained that hookworms are so tiny that they can crawl the skin in the bottom of your feet, but that they get really huge, and eventually grow bigger than the person they are inhabiting, and then the person dies a horrible painful death. She also informed me that if I stepped barefoot anywhere a dog has ever pooped, or anywhere there is a puddle, I would get hookworms.

I still refuse to go outside barefoot for any amount of time, even though I now know that hookworms aren't the things from Alien.

I too, have the same water obsession. I cannot handle people keeping the water on between dishes, between rinsing their mouth, when they are applying soup on their hands. I can't stand it. I also close doors obsessivly, everytime I leave a room that has one, even when they shouldn't be closed.

Speaking of nuclear missles, we lived in Va. Beach and every time I wa in bed and a jet went overhead I thought it was a nuclear attack. I came crying down to my parents one night and I can imagine them having that half giggle/half jeez-he-is-growing-up thing later that night.

Heh, 2 things I can recall. First, I always had to make sure that everything was properly put down on a table or surface, well away from the edge, I was always worried that something was going to fall of (not be knocked off by something hitting it, but just fall off all on its own). Also, I always used to step over cracks in the sidewalk or lines anywhere I was walking, my foot could never touch the lines. Heh.. talk about taking a long time to walk up and down brick paved drive-ways... sheesh!

I was obsessed with making sure there were never any wrinkles on my bed...from the sheets to the bed spread...and even the pillows had to be perfectly shaped.

Two things: first, I can't buy something that was first on the shelf, I always reach for one way in back. I don't want something that other people have handled. Second, I can't stand even numbers, such as groupings on the wall, things on a shelf, bracelets, etc. Third, I have to add one more so it can be odd, I'm obsessive about time.

When I was between 9 and 12, I was obsessed with prank calling. I would accompany my mom on her errands and take a notebok with me. I would write down phone numbers that I saw on ads, on the sides of buildings, on vans and trucks...

Then I would get home and lock myself in my room with my little brother. We would prank call all these places and say stupid things that only a nine year old and her seven year old brother would find funny.

My mom caught on once *69 came on the scene and our "victims" started calling back.

Okay, I thought of one I do now: when in a public restroom, I always tear of the square of toilet paper that's hanging dow and use the ones after it that no one has handled. Now that I think about it, that's not obsessive, it just makes sense.

Your web site is so intense. I spoke with you a while back, before you 'took a break.' i'll be reading your site again.

Regards,
J