So, today, I took a bag of trash down on my way to work. Nothing ooky, just some paper trash. I dropped it in an empty trashcan outside my apartment, and started on my merry way. About a half a block down the street, I realized, “Hey. Didn’t I have my keys in my hand?”
I figured I had put them in my purse, and kept walking.
A few steps later, I thought to myself, “Hey. Wouldn’t it be funny if I threw my keys out?”
Except it totally wouldn’t, and now the seed was planted.
I stopped walking, and looked through my purse. “Cut it out, Tea,” I thought. “They must be in there, you’re just being silly. You’re sometimes absentminded, but throw your keys out? Really?”
So I walked a few more steps. I couldn’t shake this anxiety. So I checked my purse again.
I walked back to my apartment. “Tea,” I thought to myself. “Look, you put the trash in an empty, clean can, and it wasn’t icky trash. What’s the worst that happens, you pick up the trash back and you keys aren’t there? Look, there’s your super–”
The train of thought stopped long enough to wave to the super.
“And if they’re not in the trash, you can ask him to open the door because you probably just left them in your apartment without thinking.”
I took the lid off the trashcan. Whew. No one had put anything gross in there.
I picked up the bag. There, at the bottom of the freshly-replaced trash bag, were my keys.
I can’t help thinking this same scenario could have been a lot more traumatic.
Mirrored from Antagonia.net.