So Says The Mouse In My Hair

Your "Shopping" List

You know how every time you’re driving "home"…

and by "home" I mean the house where your parents are living.

…you come up with this list of things you plan on "stealing"?

And by "stealing" I mean taking things that your parents would be perfectly happy to give you if you bothered to ask which you just never do

But then you get there, and one thing leads to another and actual things…

Like religion and politics and politics of religion and religion of politics

…take up all that brain space on which you were saving your "shopping" list. And since the file got deleted you leave with loads of goodies...

Not quite care package goodies, but they have their own uses. Like those little green pieces of paper they stick on your pockets make excellent currency.

... that your parents so thoughtfully donated to the Keep You Alive For A While charity, that is so wrongfully left out of tax exempt status.

So in the end you’ve got great things like cans of soup and Easter candy and salad tongs and vitamins…

What’s with the vitamins anyway? But that’s for a new day.

…but you’ve also left all those nice little toiletries un-pilfered. Just like you reminded yourself on the way over that you weren't going to.

You know what I’m talking about, right? Q-tips. I really don’t think your mom and dad would have a problem sharing with you...

After all they come in quantities resembling the population of China

...but it’s March now, and you’ve been reminding yourself to nab some since January. And you haven’t yet.

Worse though than the forgoten and unwritten shopping list, are those things you should remember in flashing neon signs, but somehow they only cross your mind like a bird flying across the road in front of you.

"Oh, I should remember my tax forms when I leave tomorrow."

"I know I’m going to forget my backpack. Remind myself to remember my backpack." Yeah, like that one works.

So when you’re packing to leave, in the end, somehow, you remember to pack the Hunter S. Thompson edition of Rolling Stone, but completely forget the jacket that has your apartment keys in it.

For those of you who are very confused about why you put your apartment keys on a separate chain from your car keys and never told yourselves, it was so that you could warm your car up and lock your apartment door simultaneously.

So in the end, no matter what happens, you still hit yourself over the head with a paring knife because you forgot the q-tips and you can't get into your apartment or do your taxes or your homework.

In which case it's a comfort to know that you've got those vitamins.

Hmmm. Somewhere inside me, a voice is screaming to be heard that is saying, "Sarah, since you already know you’re a freak, you may be confused as to how many experiences you share with your readers. Who knows, they might actually be resposible. And mature. And good human beings who don't kill plants. Maybe you just happen to be really bad at invisible lists and mental post-its."

To which I reply, "Ha! This phenomenon is as universal as the snipping of the umbilical chord." The thing is, to prove it, I'm going to need some help. You must put this little voice in my head to bed with your stories. What is it you're always forgetting to remember even though you todl yourself to remind yourself not to?

On your mark:
Get set:
Go:

posted by Sarah Eliza @ 6:35 PM