How I Almost Donated My Keys to the Retarded, and other tales
I usually keep a reliable mental hold on the whereabouts of my vitals: keys, wallet, cell phone. It helps that I enforce a strict list of permissible locations for each object: Basket by the front door, pocket on my person, zipper pocket of my bag. So, you can imagine my disgruntlement a couple of days ago when I could not find my keys anywhere! I had just spent the whole day cleaning out the Treehouse, too, so anything out of place would have stood out like a bug in my eye. I was starting to go a little batty, as I considered "When was the last time I used my keys?" See, I hadn't been out of the house all day, except to take a couple of things out to the car, which required keys. But there's almost no way I could lock them in the car, since I always lock the car with the keys. Still, just to humor my increasingly haggard self, I used my spare key to open the car and check. Still no keys.
Just as a sob was about to break through my throat, I remembered one other reason for going outside: to bring the trash to the curb, which included two bags of junk for the NW Center (formerly of the Retarded). I could rummage through old eggshells, banana peels, and 2 years worth of shredded receipts. Or, I could check the Retarded bags.
I found the keys at the bottom of the Retarded bags. Tangled up with the old cell phone and chargers that I was donating. I haven't laughed this hard at myself since uh...a couple of days ago when...
I shredded two years' worth of register receipts. Please learn from my poor lungs, and do not do this. The ink on the papers is surprisingly noxious when airborne. And it clouded the air invisibly, until I realized that every breath was indeed hurting. Ow. The lengths to which we go to avoid someone stealing our identity!
The housecleaning activity is a phase I'm going through lately. I am trying to get rid of useless STUFF that is taking up space. It's all about the transmutation of mass. For example, I am "trading" 50 or so dust-collecting CDs for a tiny iPod Shuffle. I'm donating old books. I'm destroying the evidence of 2 years' worth of receipts. How ironic is it that the evidence decided to settle in my lungs!
Just as a sob was about to break through my throat, I remembered one other reason for going outside: to bring the trash to the curb, which included two bags of junk for the NW Center (formerly of the Retarded). I could rummage through old eggshells, banana peels, and 2 years worth of shredded receipts. Or, I could check the Retarded bags.
I found the keys at the bottom of the Retarded bags. Tangled up with the old cell phone and chargers that I was donating. I haven't laughed this hard at myself since uh...a couple of days ago when...
I shredded two years' worth of register receipts. Please learn from my poor lungs, and do not do this. The ink on the papers is surprisingly noxious when airborne. And it clouded the air invisibly, until I realized that every breath was indeed hurting. Ow. The lengths to which we go to avoid someone stealing our identity!
The housecleaning activity is a phase I'm going through lately. I am trying to get rid of useless STUFF that is taking up space. It's all about the transmutation of mass. For example, I am "trading" 50 or so dust-collecting CDs for a tiny iPod Shuffle. I'm donating old books. I'm destroying the evidence of 2 years' worth of receipts. How ironic is it that the evidence decided to settle in my lungs!