MARK PATINKIN Hate to clean out the garage? You must be suffering from 'SNS'

I am relieved to hear that having an obnoxious temper is not a person's own fault anymore. It's a syndrome. The June issue of the Archives of General Psychiatry has a new label for road rage and other sudden outbursts.
It's called Intermittent Explosive Disorder -- IED.
Apparently 16 million Americans suffer from it. Instead of viewing them as jerks, we should now see them as needing cognitive-behavioral therapy and mood stabilizing medications.
I am in favor of this.
And I am realizing there are many other syndromes we need to acknowledge, mainly because I suffer from them.
My wife has been asking me to clean the garage for months. I have intended to do it, but have failed. The assumption is that it's the result of my being a lazy slug.
It turns out that's not the case.
In fact, I suffer from Seasonal Nonmotivational Syndrome, or SNS. I am sure studies would show that sadly, almost 45 percent of all husbands have this affliction. It's clearly not our fault, in the same way that you can't blame near-sighted people for needing glasses. Failing to clean the garage is not character weakness; it's a neurological defect.
Empty carton
I've long been told I have another bad habit. If I reach into the freezer and grab the last Oreo Klondike bar, I leave the empty carton on the shelf. I do the same thing if I take the last pretzel or serving of cereal: I will put the bare box back instead of throwing it out. Traditionally, people who do this have been called obnoxious. I have even heard the term "social loafer," because we assume someone else will take care of our task.
But I'm now convinced it's an outgrowth of childhood separation anxiety. I always had a hard time with partings. Subconsciously, that's why I put empty boxes back. I'm not a social loafer. I have a medical disorder called Object Severance Malady -- OSM.
On the floor of my bedroom, there are now three laundry hampers that I have been living out of for weeks. I am often reprimanded for not putting the clothes in the closet and dresser. If I have the initiative to carry the hampers up from the basement, for goodness sake, can't I put the clothes away, too?
No. But it's not because I'm a shirker. It's that I have a chemical imbalance that's beyond my control. It blocks my capability of follow-through. I suffer from Task Completion Deficit -- TCD.
There is a huge stack of bills on my study desk, and this week I have begun to get reminder notices about late payments. For years, I have been called a "procrastinator" for this kind of thing. But a behavioral analysis would likely trace this back to high school, during which I never finished a term paper earlier than the night before it was due. My guess is it's a result not of dawdling but of uneven endocrine performance which short-circuits the advance-planning lobe of my brain. I'm not a procrastinator. I'm the victim of Completion Aversion Affliction, or CAA.
Months ago, after a ski trip, I put a snowboard belonging to one of my children in a kitchen corner. It's still there. Over time, I've kicked off various pairs of shoes near the staircase. Those are still there, too. The shelf where I keep my wallet and car keys also is filled with receipts, papers and 50 other throwaway items I've dumped there and ignored.
Physical issue
Some would say I'm a messy person. Over time, I've internalized this label and it has unfairly hurt my self-esteem. What I hadn't realized until now is that it's a physical issue. I'm pretty sure I was born with flawed retinas that make it impossible for me to see clutter. It is a relief to know I am not a foot-dragger, but rather, a victim of Ocular Insufficiency Condition, or OIC.
I have many other heartbreaking complexes, like the way I won't bend over to pick up a dropped pen, or piece of ice, not because I'm a slacker but because I'm psychiatrically overwhelmed by the prospect of onerous jobs -- that's called Compulsive Paralytic Complex, or CPC.
I also won't get up off my La-Z-Boy to answer the phone, not because I don't want to bother, but because I have a medical fear of being confronted by an unknown conversationalist -- Unanticipated Communicative Paranoia, or UCP.
I'd love to go on, but I am almost past my column deadline, due to TCD, CAA and SNS, and though my OSM makes me not want to let go of it, I couldn't cope with an editor's IED because of my UCP, so I'm out.
X Patinkin is a colunist for the Providence Journal. Distributed by Scripps Howard News Service.