My OCD Diary: 7 Days in Italy

Today, I visited the Leaning Tower of Pisa. Now, there’s a monument that understands me.

Day 5 with OCD in Italy

Before we embark on this whimsical journey through the land of pasta, Pisa, and peculiar personal quirks, a word of caution: this diary is not to be taken too seriously. It’s a light-hearted romp through Italy, seen through the eyes of someone who sees the world just a bit differently. There will be laughter, there will be oddities, and there will be an inexplicable obsession with the number thirteen. So sit back, relax, and prepare to embark on a journey that’s as much about the quirks of the human mind as it is about the beauty of Italy. And remember, in the grand tradition of Italian comedy, the aim here is to amuse, not to offend. So let’s dive in, shall we?

Day 1: Monday

I arrived in Rome today, the city of eternal love, history, and an inexplicable number of pigeons. The flight was uneventful, save for the moment when I was convinced my seatbelt was not perfectly parallel to the armrest. I spent a good 15 minutes adjusting it, much to the amusement of the flight attendant who, I’m sure, was contemplating whether to serve me another mini bottle of wine or a straightjacket. I eventually settled on the fact that airplane seatbelts and armrests were not designed with Euclidean geometry in mind.

Day 2: Tuesday

Today, I visited the Colosseum. It’s a magnificent structure, a testament to the grandeur of the Roman Empire, and a reminder that humans have always had a strange fascination with watching other people fight. As I stood at the edge, looking down into the ancient battleground, a strange thought popped into my head: “What if I jumped?” It was a disturbing thought, one that I quickly dismissed with a shudder. I spent the rest of the day recounting the arches, partly to distract myself, and partly because I lost track around 73. A tour guide, seeing my intense focus, mistook me for a historian and started asking about the architectural significance of the arches. I told him they were very… archy.

Day 3: Wednesday

I decided to take a break from the bustling city and took a train to the tranquil countryside of Tuscany. The vineyards were a sight to behold, and the wine, even more so. I found myself at a small winery, where I was invited to participate in a wine tasting. The owner, a jovial man named Luigi, was slightly perplexed when I insisted on swirling the wine exactly seven times before each sip. He eventually shrugged it off as an eccentric American habit and even started doing it himself, much to the amusement of the other guests.

Day 4: Thursday

Venice, the city of canals, was my intended destination today. However, I found myself engaged in a mental tug-of-war with my hotel room door. Did I lock it? I was sure I did. But then again, was I really sure? I checked it once, twice, thrice, each time confirming that yes, it was indeed locked. But as soon as I’d start down the hallway, a nagging doubt would creep in. What if I only thought I locked it? What if my memory was playing tricks on me? I spent the better part of the day pacing between my room and the hallway, much to the bemusement of the hotel staff. The cleaning lady, a kind woman named Maria, eventually took pity on me and offered to check the door for me. I thanked her profusely and finally managed to leave the room, only to realize it was already evening. I spent the rest of the day at a small café near the hotel, sipping espresso and watching the gondolas glide by in the distance. Venice, it seems, will have to wait for another day.

Hello from Venice

Day 5: Friday

Today, I visited the Leaning Tower of Pisa. Now, there’s a monument that understands me. It leans, I lean, we both defy the norms of straightness. As I ascended the tower, that intrusive thought returned: “What if I jumped?” I quickly retreated to the safety of the ground, deciding that the tower was best appreciated from a distance. A group of school children found my rapid descent hilarious and started mimicking me. I’m now the proud instigator of a new trend: the “quick exit” Pisa picture.

Day 6: Saturday

I spent the day in Florence, home of the Renaissance and a suspiciously large number of gelato shops. I visited the Uffizi Gallery, where I was captivated by Botticelli’s “The Birth of Venus”. I found myself fixated on the pattern of the waves in the painting, tracing them with my eyes until a security guard asked if I was trying to hypnotize myself. I told him I was just admiring the brushwork. He didn’t seem convinced but let me continue my wave-tracing in peace.

Day 7: Sunday

My last day in Italy. I had planned to spend it in a small café in Rome, sipping espresso and watching the world go by. But as I stood at the crossroads, I found myself paralyzed by indecision. Should I go to the café on the left, with its inviting aroma of fresh pastries, or the one on the right, with its charming outdoor seating?

I spent a good part of the morning pacing between the two, weighing the pros and cons, until a street musician, amused by my dilemma, suggested I flip a coin. I did, and the café on the right won. But as I sat down to order, I couldn’t help but wonder if I had made the right choice. The pastries at the other café did smell delicious. I spent so much time second-guessing my decision that I lost track of time. I rushed to the airport, only to find that I had missed my flight.

As I sat in the airport café, waiting for the next flight, I couldn’t help but laugh at the irony. I may have missed my flight, but at least I finally had my espresso. Arrivederci, Italy. You’ve taught me that sometimes, the wrong decisions lead to the right stories.


And so, as I soared above the clouds, leaving behind the land of pasta, Pisa, and peculiar personal quirks, I couldn’t help but chuckle at the absurdity of it all. Italy, with its grandeur and gelato, had not only tolerated my idiosyncrasies but had embraced them with a warm, Mediterranean shrug. I had arrived with a suitcase full of anxieties and left with a heart full of laughter, a belly full of wine, and a newfound appreciation for the number thirteen. Italy, you’ve been a delight. You’ve taught me that life, like a Roman arch, is not always perfectly symmetrical, and that’s perfectly fine. So here’s to you, Italy, the land that leans just a little bit, just like me. Arrivederci, and thank you for the memories, the mirth, and the magnificent cappuccinos.