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2002-12-05 - 6:40 a.m.
This is the December 4, 2002 entry. I was three-quarters of the way through it last night when the computer priority rule (homework first) kicked in so I posted this morning instead.
Master (with some weariness): It�s always a junkyard in there. Little Boy to Mother: It�s such a junkyard that I can�t find my clothes in there. Mother to Little Boy: You didn�t bring your clothes today. Little Boy to Mother: I didn�t? Master to Little Boy: Your mind. It�s a junkyard in there. Little Boy laughes . My mind. It�s a junkyard in there too. Amid all the dates to remember, the details of who needs what when, and the grocery list, it�s not surprising that I often can�t find my keys. As organized as I generally am, all too many trips begin with a �game� known around here as Mommy�s key hunt. Several family members have threatened to get me one of those devices that make noise when you clap so I can put it on my key chain. I doubt it will help. At least I no longer have to fear that my children will walk off with them. When each of the kids were preschoolers, we went through time in which my keys were fascinating toys. I never knew whether I had misplaced them or some child had taken them. Key hunts in those days were truly exciting. No, today all I have to blame is me. I don�t lock myself out of the house or car. When I am outside those places, I usually am fairly sure where my keys are. They are either in my pocket or in my purse. Checking where I put the keys before I close the front door or the car door has become second nature. It is as though the little guy who runs the junkyard of my mind says, �I have to set these aside where I can find them. A customer just notified me that she�ll be calling for them soon.� But as soon as I step inside my house or my office, the little guy takes no more notice. He just throws the information on the pile of junk someone may want someday but need not be inventoried and habit doesn�t save me either. I have no consistent habit. I often will stuff the keys into the pocket of the jacket I am wearing but not always. I often will put them on the counter (at home) or on my desk (at work) where I then will knock them under papers or all over. But sometimes I�ll just put them down at the first place I stop. They could be by my mailbox (at work), in the bathroom (at home), in my boss� office (at work), or by the computer (at home). In short, they could be just about any place. Obviously, the guy who runs the junkyard of my mind is capable of inventory. The trick is to convince him that keys should be on inventory all the time. I�d figure out how to do it except I have to go look for my keys. It�s time to take Kat to school. LAST FIVE ENTRIES: Slip Sliding Away Just Another Manic Monday The Limits of Might and Power The Act of Creation Why I Should Not Divorce  |
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