That’s a relief!
Now I can tell the kids that my obsessive need to crank down the heat (in winter), turn off the lights, swish the last bit of (bargain) shampoo from a bottle and wear my clothes until they are literally falling apart has a name. I’ll call it Post-Traumatic Depression Disorder by Proxy. I’ll add the proxy part because my parents, who actually did live during the Depression did not act in nearly an obsessive manner as I do.

Many thanks for this humorous reminder that we all have had and will have crosses to bear.
Thanks to Jeff Miller from Opinion Journal by way of Blog from the Core.