You know those moments in your life when you say to yourself, "This is a thing I should put in a safe place for some unspecified point in the future"? I am bad at those moments. My filing system is opaque to everyone but me, and frequently to me as well. For years the social security cards lived in a file called MOVE & DOCS, a name that did not suggest the presence of social security cards to the uninitiated. Those moments are the reason I am the world's leading ductwork bunyip blogger. (I have not actually verified this claim; feel free to leave the names of other contenders in the comments.)
The last time I switched purses, I downsized. I had to get rid of my pencil box and little notebook because they just wouldn't fit in my new purse. I remember holding the pencil box in my hand, thinking, "I will want to use this again when I buy my next purse." And then? I do not know. There is only a void encircled by frustrated question marks.
Past Me did not stash them in an old purse, or in the drawers with office supplies, or on the art supply shelf, or in her sock drawer. (I was getting a little desperate.) She did not put them on a school supply shelf, or in the laptop bag, or in the dishwasher. (Like I said, desperate.) It is possible that Past Me put them somewhere sensible, at least by her standards, and then Slightly More Recently Past Stella relocated them. In that case I'll only find them when we move out.
Putting things away does not seem like a super-complicated skill. I'm not trying to learn to play the oboe here, folks. I'm not pursuing the world's one-armed curling championship. And yet I am here to tell you: the fact that papers are filed, or objects are put away, does not mean that the filer/putter-away-er has done her job well.
Just ask my sleek and burping bunyip.
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