"Oh, and how do I get all this evil crammed back into the jar?"
* * * * *
This morning I was still lying comfortably in bed, pondering whether to just turn over for another hour, when - unannounced and most certainly unbidden - the monster under the bed blinked, yawned copiously, stretched its slimy tentacles, smacked its lips and crawled out of its lair, looking for trouble. We eyed each other warily for a couple of minutes as we usually do. But, unusually, it didn't blink first and retreated, nor was it to be appeased by the prospect of plenty of dust bunnies to play with (or chase and torture, if you will) back under the bed. The monster was bored and hungry for a few frayed nerves of mine and not to be brought around.
Bad news, that. But long overdue I guess.
So I eventually faced the unfaceable, did the undoable and touched the untouchable. Untouchable piles of paper, that is. About 13+ of them sprinkled about my flat - desk, shelves, kitchen table...
See, the obvious Plan A (i.e. simply tidy the whole sorry mess up and file away properly the important/useful things in neat, orderly folders for school, university, insurance and other bureaucratic stuff resepctively, then never allow similar pile-forming ever again) was simply so, so, so impossible to embark upon!
The mere thought of going through those paper mountains and not finding that one most important lost-presumed-dead "document upon which my ever graduating hangs" among them has proven horror-inducing and caused heart racing, stomach-clenching petrification...
Because of all that I had come up with a Plan B, and a straight-forward but marvellous one at that. I would simply not touch those stacks of horror. Instead I would pile stuff on top even higher, thus causing (in the very very long run, admittedly) the pressure and weight from the top layers to compress and condense the lower layers until they would finally turn into coal and crude oil.
Ingenious plan, I know. True masterminding.
But somehow the world around me doesn't seem ready for that much innovation and stubbornly insists on its old ways and on my coming up with said document (I won't even tell you what it is, it's too sad. Suffice to say I'm the world's biggest eejit.)
So here I am, three-quarters through those 13+ piles, after 4 hours of meticulously uncovering layer after layer archeologist-style, piece of paper after piece of paper with a symbolic little brush. And that one most priced piece of paper is not among them.
Which I suspected all along.
And, yeah, sure, you'll say that something doesn't just disappear. That it's bound to turn up, that it has to be there 'cause you wouldn't have thrown it out, would you?
No, I certainly would not. At least not knowingly. But things have got lost and stayed lost in the past, so I'm humbled by precedence.
Anyone any good at coming up with a Plan C (which obviously encompasses the persuading of university personnel to issue the bloody document again. Huh, fat chance! Think blue moons, camels and eyes of needles.)?
Oh, and what do I do with those 22 new, albeit very well-assorted, piles I created in the course of this morning's quest???
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