My mother showed signs of worry when I was five, after I had successfully paired up my shirt, skirt, socks, shoes, hair clips, and backpack for the first day of kindergarten, as preplanned the day before--in my head. Of course I should have realized the critical planning I was going to go through for the rest of my life after that, but I decided to ignore it and simply continued like normal.
In school I barely had any friends. My plan was to get through all my hectic years of school and into my properly scheduled career, so naturally I had no time for 'hang-outs'. Boys would ask me out, but I had homework planned for every single night.
I remember one year in elementary school I tried to rebel and picked a shirt that did not match with my skirt and boy had that been a mistake. I had run home, hands on my face covering the tears that flowed weightlessly down my small cheeks. The pressure of knowing that my clothes didn't match had broken me, constantly torturing my child mind. I swear it was OCD. That's how much I couldn't stand something that wasn't properly planned, something that didn't look proper, period. So therefore, the day after everything was back to normal. Clothes matched and I had everything as planned in my bag.
My life was perfectly planned, not a spec nor hair out of place--everything in order.
I stared at the television in front of me, not really watching seeing as that my mind was millions of miles away. The purple container that sat on my lap trembled as a single shiver crawled up my back. What to do? I couldn't simply ignore Peter at work, considering that he was my boss.
My very sexy, eatable, and charming new boss.
No. I shook my head. I will have none of that! My plan was to continue in my perfectly set career and anyway, I thought as I continued stuffing grapes into my mouth anxiously as my mind fought with itself, I hadn't planned any HUGE romance in my life this early on. That calmed me down. That's right, no romance.
If it wasn't planned, it wouldn't happened.