Nature Over Nurture

I was thinking about it the other night, and I think I've always been like this. This. Hyper-observant, easily irritated, borderline OCD. Here are three supporting examples from my very early youth:

1. You know how socks have that seam that runs across the tops of your toes? Well, when I was really little, before I dressed myself, I remember that my mom had to be extra careful when putting on my socks for me, because if that seam was off center by even the slightest bit, and I could feel it on the sides of my toes, or God forbid on the bottoms!, I would cry hysterically. Really.

2. Crispy cereal was very important to me. I couldn't stand soggy cereal. But, I also hated having to scoop up dry cereal in too little milk, because that made it harder to get on the spoon. So, like I still do for everything else in my life, I had a system. As a little kid, I'd fill my bowl with cereal, and fill it to the brim with milk, but then only eat like half the bowl of cereal because the second half was too soggy by the time I got to it. I refused to eat soggy cereal. It didn't feel right. I remember eating breakfast at one of my friend's houses was always very traumatic for me because his father made you finish whatever you put in the bowl. Your cereal got soggy? Tough shit. You shouldn't have poured it in there. You finished your cereal before it soggy but now you have excess milk in the bowl? Better get to slurpin', son. I got very good at balancing my milk and cereal levels at this kid's house...and at pouring the excess milk in the sink when his dad wasn't looking.

3. When I was in pre-school, I think like three years old, they had a finger painting day. So, like all the other kids, I dipped my hands in the paint, made a few masterpieces, and was ready to be on my way. But, I'm me, so it didn't happen like that. When we finished painting, I made the mistake of turning my hands over so I could check out my palms, probably to marvel at how such tiny extremities had been responsible for creating such beauty that day. As soon as I saw the palms of my hands covered in paint, I began crying hysterically, screaming about my hands being dirty, or something along those lines. I was completely inconsolable, and they actually had to call my mom to come pick me up and take me home.

Yeah, so, I think I've always been like this.