On Being a Control Freak

I had a great triumph just now. I didn't bludgeon someone with unsolicited help.

Oh, I wanted to. I had a student; she scored well on a standardized test; she expressed happiness about her score.

I very much wanted to write: "AND IF YOU DECIDE TO RE-TAKE THIS....WHICH IS SOMETHING PEOPLE DO....BE SURE YOU STUDY *ALL* SECTIONS.....BECAUSE SOMETIMES ONE-FOURTH OF YOUR PERFORMANCE CAN SLIP WHILE YOU'RE CONCENTRATING ON A *DIFFERENT* FOURTH!!!!"

I reviewed this with my husband, who gently said: "Why don't you just write.....Great job.....?"

These were words of wisdom.

At times, my inner, seething cauldron of control freakishness is almost too much to bear. I want to march around my neighborhood, telling one person not to park where she parks, offering "guidance" to a married couple about the color they've used on their front door.

I want to advise an adolescent acquaintance to "talk less" (I want to be Aaron Burr!) ....and I very much want my toddler son to sit still for an extra minute so I can obsessively adjust the part in his hair.

Granted: He isn't two yet, we're in a pandemic, he doesn't have any social obligations....and yet I know he would be better, the world would be better, if maybe two or three strands of hair could find their way up off his forehead.....

My particular bit of rock-bottom lunacy is to splurge on a hardcover book, then drop the book, and notice one slightly-dented corner--and stare, in fury, at that corner, for minutes on end--as if my staring might make the corner "behave."

Fine--but, today, I *didn't* send the email I'd planned to send.

I sent an email that said, simply, "Great job."

I'm ready for my victory lap.

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