I blame the shorts. The pockets are too small.
I just don’t want to be slowly turning into a person who loses things all over the place. I talk to people who lose everything. Every form of ID, birth certificate, social security card… Everything. There remains, it seems, no quick or ovbious way to rememdy that situation. I’ve had nightmares about it.
Speaking of nightmares I had a crazy dream last night where I lived in a multi-level apartment with 47 rooms. Everyone I’d ever known came by to visit. An ex-girlfriend slipped into my bed just as I was getting ready to retire, saying she just needed to talk to me about a few things.
We didn’t talk about anything. We had stiff, perfunctory, boring sex, as reflected by the reality of our encounters.
I don’t even know why I call her an ex-girlfriend. A months-long dalliance, more like it.
But there she was, naked and on top of me, where she preferred to be.
Other people around were stealing stuff from me but the sex, as boring as it was, served as enough of a distraction that I lost everything to these thieves, who came from all quadrants of my life.