Anxious? Who, me?

In my 1971 diary, I wrote every day in the color of my mood. Not only that, I added a little bar of color into the outlined year on the cover page. I was careful to leave the accurate amount of white space when I didn't write. Not only that, I kept track in the back cover, of how many times I used each pen, and also which pens were lost, ran out of ink, or weren't purchased at the beginning of the year, so as to give a clearer picture of what was actually happening, with those pens. 

That fourteen year old knew what she was feeling. "Dear Diary," she writes, "I'm angry!" or "I'm happy" or "I'm worried about Mom," or "I'm muy deprisido." Susan asked if I was an anxious kid. "Not that I knew of," I told her, "but I DID have a lot of systems!"

In a mushy letter I wrote to my parents about that time, I thanked my Dad for "talking to me about statistics." It meant a lot to me. 

At first I tagged this OCD, but then I changed it to OCP (obsessive compulsive personality). Leah taught me that term. We both have it. Besides, how could this be a disorder? It's the opposite- everything is perfectly, reassuringly, in order.