My fetish might just be keeping my space fairly
organized 'mongst this whole moving trauma.
I can even hear my mother nagging me from the
beyond, "You need to get your desk cleaned off
and your documents filed." So, I finally give in.
Trudging over to the library where my office is,
carrying all these papers, I catch myself muttering
under my breath, almost grumpy teenager style.
It's freezing out there so I turn up the heater, but
I know I'll be finished before it ever warms up.
However, I actually start to warm to the task as
I get into it. As I file, I'm able to put some things
through the shredder, and even though I don't
like filing, I content myself with the fact that come
tax time, I'll be glad I did it. I'm about three or
four papers away from finished when I spy a bill,
a $50.00 bill!!! Unbelievable! I haven't seen a
$50.00 in so many years I thought the banks had
canceled their printing! Where the hell did it
come from? Do you think my mother found a
way to reward me for getting my chores done?
I'm halfway between the awe of the find and the
chagrin I feel, when I look up and say, "Thanks,
mom!" The adult me knows this is impossible,
yet . . . perhaps stranger things have happened.
grinch that i may be
tis a day for miracles
yes i am thankful
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