I get weirdly compulsive when I’m busy, or when stress overwhelms me. When my brother-in-law lay dying in a hospital, I cleaned closets till the wee hours of the night. When my kids were little, I counted. Steps up the stairs, steps to their rooms, steps to the car. I compulsively baked pies (rather publicly) during a difficult time in my life. I’m moving soon, the girl is graduating from high school and any number of the tasks that accompany all these things are looming … so I’m making salsa. Compulsive salsa.
Luckily this is a relatively healthy compulsion. I’m perfecting my smoky tomato salsa recipe, though, and by the time things settle down in the fall (HAHAHAHA) I’ll be the salsa master. I haven’t looked it up, but I’m sure there’s some coping mechanism at work here. It doesn’t seem to be too much of a problem, and it seems to calm me down when I’m freaking out about everything on my plate (pass the chips) so what’s the issue, really? Too much salsa is probably not a legitimate complaint.