Want. Need. Ache. Desire. Living for it. pant-pant Despondancy at the thought of losing it. Deep crimson yearnings. Gotta be near it. Touch it. pant-pant. See it. Protect it. Have it. Own it. pant-pant Can't think without it. Can't eat without it. Can't sleep without it.

Kill it if it doesn't love back.

A state in which a person is controlled by a demon from the outside. This is to be contrasted with possession, in which is person is controlled from the inside. A demonically obsessed person is not inhabited by the demon, just yanked around by it. Think of it as the difference between pulling the strings on a marionette and a operating a hand puppet. If you were unfortunate enough to catch the movie Stigmata, the scene in which she's whipped by invisible forces on the subway is a good example of demonic obsession

Every morning I make the bed and place the six pillows just so. For me, there is an honor in order. The two on which each of us sleep should lie beneath, stacked like actors on either side, and on top on those the larger decorative ones should be placed at an angle resembling someone's savior in the Pieta. These two on top should touch just so in the middle so as to keep the vows in absentia until they're tossed aside each night. It's their only job and if they don't do it, who will?

To me, this is the correct way with everything in the house. When someone in my youth said, "There is a place for everything, and everything should be in its place," that was obviously the only religion I learned. I am a disciple to such an extent that if I touch one finger with my thumb, each of the other three fingers much be touched accordingly. Not only is there a place for everything, but that place has significance over and above this physical world.

My towels are folded just so and hang in such a manner that the bottoms meet in perfect symmetry. You toss your towel over the rack haphazardly each morning. And each morning I hang it so that the ends touch. You pretend not to notice. I can't tell you how much your supposed failure to notice soothes me.

There are certain parts of the house which we have agreed are "yours." There you are free to conjure up your demons of chaos and build piles of unordered papers and knickknacks and I've agreed to say nothing and not touch them. While I don't pretend to understand how you can function like this, I assume that the constant smile on your face means that it is likely quite possible. When your chaos of random piles invades sections we've not sanctioned for this purpose, you fully understand when I throw up my hysterical hands and call, "Enough!" It seems to almost amuse you when this happens. Then the piles are moved into the safe areas and I can function again.

There are numbers which are lucky and there are numbers which are not. Zero and one do not count, but when numbers other than those must be used, three and five and six and nine are acceptable. Two and four and seven and eight are not. It is not an accident that there are an equal number of numbers which fit each category. It is verifiably possible to determine whether a product will do what it is said to do by adding up the acceptable numbers on the labels and subtracting the unacceptable ones. If the product is OK, the acceptable numbers will always outnumber the maleficent numbers by either three, five, six or nine numbers. And vice versa. Don't ask me how.

You could count the number of galaxies in the Hubble deep field photos and determine how much longer our earth will last and exactly how traumatic to how many humans the end will be.

You find this whole notion silly, and the fact that you abide these obsessions of mine and say nothing is one of the largest reasons I remain sane and married.

I can see the future and you believe me. I don't know why you would, but it means the world to me that you do.

Your future is golden, sweetheart.

Ob*ses"sion (?), n. [L. obsessio: cf.F. obsession.]


The act of besieging.



The state of being besieged; -- used specifically of a person beset by a spirit from without.


Whether by obsession or possession, I will not determine. Burton.


© Webster 1913.

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