I, Monk

I, Monk

“What a drag it is getting old.”

Mick Jagger circa 1965

An old girlfriend noticed it first.

“You’re becoming compulsive.”

“Wadda ya mean?”

“I mean, you’re beginning to do odd things.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

“Am not.”

“You are too. You’re getting just like that OCD cop on TV. You’re developing little compulsive behaviors.”

“Such as?”

“Such as tucking in the sheets on the bed every time you walk into the bedroom. You straighten the sheets and tuck them in – hospital corners, of course. Then you adjust the comforter so it’s exactly even. Back and forth, back and forth, from one side to the other until it’s perfect. I half expect you to pull out a tape measure before long.”

“That’s ridiculous, Joanne. I might smooth the blanket on occasion, but I’m not as bad as all that.”

“Oh, yes you are. When I got up last night to go to bathroom, the bed was made when I came back.”

And so it begins. Geezer-ism. It sort of creeps up on you when you’re not looking. Kind of like a single gray hair. One day, it’s just there.
That was several years back. That relationship ended and I was blissfully single for a while; living alone and, unbeknownst to me, developing a brand-new set of behaviors.

Last Saturday I woke up at the wonderful hour of 8 a.m. and looked forward to a day of doing absolutely nothing. I got up and planned on brushing my teeth and making a little breakfast. After I finished brushing, I began wiping up the random water droplets from the sink. Two hours later, my bathroom was sparkling, I was sweating like a pig, and I wouldn’t take a shower because I’d just cleaned the damn thing.

“Crap. Well, I may as well make some breakfast.”

So, while brewing some coffee, I pulled out the ham and eggs for a sandwich, but I couldn’t find the American cheese. I started rooting through the fridge, pulling things out; looking for the cheese I knew was there. Eventually, I came upon one of those square, Zip-Lock containers and realized that I couldn’t identify the contents.

“What the hell is this? I don’t remember eating anything purple.”

I peeled open the lid and quickly resealed it again.

“UGH! This rice has to be older than I am.”

So started a chain of events that would take me into the early evening hours. By the time I was finished, I had cleaned the fridge, washed the dishes, degreased the oven, scrubbed the sink and countertop, mopped the floor (two times), rearranged the cupboards, wiped down every last surface and I never did find the damn cheese.

“Where the hell did the day go? Damn, I’m hungry.”

I ordered a carryout pizza, and stopped to buy cheese on the way. And, since I was at the store anyway, I picked up a few things I absolutely had to have. Hair spray, strawberries, toothpicks, a head of lettuce, those kitchen sponges that come three in a pack, shoe strings, a light bulb, a bucket, Epsom salt, on and on, aisle after aisle -- there was no stopping. And if I couldn’t find something, I began a search of every aisle, making two passes so I wouldn’t have to keep turning my head for fear of missing that which I sought.

By the time I made it back to the house, the pizza was cold. There’s nothing worse than nuked pizza and I’d be damned if I was going to heat it up in my nice clean oven. So it was cold pizza for a late dinner.

I put the pizza box on the coffee table and grabbed a soda from the fridge. It was easy to find. Now to relax, eat and watch some TV. I walked to the entertainment center and snatched up the TV’s remote. I noticed the lack of dust on the shelf where it was sitting. I wiped my finger across it. Big mistake.

“Shit. Where’s the Pledge?”

I opened the cupboard under the sink, the one area of the kitchen I had completely forgotten about that day. I pulled everything out looking for the Pledge.

Nothing.

After cleaning that cupboard, it was back to the store, with a slice of cold pizza for the trip.

So the day mercifully ended. My house was spotless and I was beat. I walked into the bedroom to change into my jammys and began tucking in the sheets.

“What the hell am I doing? I’m going to bed.”

Joanne’s words rang in my ears.

“You’re Monk.”

***