The sheer number of stupid things I've done in the last four days alone has prompted me to take up this blog again.

As I pen this, my cell phone is sitting on a brick outside in the sun. Drying out. Yes, I washed it. In the high-efficiency front-loading Fisher & Paykel. Not just a wash cycle, but an added spin cycle for good measure. 

Today is Thursday. It happened Wednesday, the same day I misplaced my credit card for the second time in three days. Wednesday is also the day I discovered I had a whole series of books-on-CD overdue at the library. And stepped in a paint-can lid loaded with of wet, black flat interior latex. And used my mate's BP savings card to put in eight gallons of gasoline when he specifically told me an hour prior that 10 gallons was the magic number to achieve the savings tally. (In my defense, I had just picked up my terrier from cancer surgery and was not all there. Not that I ever am.)

Tuesday, I lost my cell phone, literally. On the trail near our house. I finally found it in some long grass after two laps of the trail on my bike, with my mate at home repeatedly dialing my number and random strangers being alerted to be on the lookout. 

Monday, I discovered that my overdue library magazines are at my mother's house 72 miles away. And don't get me started on how many items I misplaced at my parents' house.

My own house is a disaster. Hobbies in progress, projects in progress, unfinished projects, paper lists of to-do's, stacks of bills, scattered newspapers, prospective "merchandise" for my mother's resale business, cans of paint, paintbrushes, lampshades, broken knickknacks that need gluing or touching up. My purse sags with a disorganized array of coupons, grocery lists, lip gloss, a tape measure, Swiss army knife, toothpaste. Checkout counters mean a red face and a major archaeological dig to find my driver's license.