In an ongoing effort to improve my mental capacity, I borrowed book from library on meditation. I took it with me to dance class, remember setting it down somewhere and at the time thinking, If I’m not careful, I’ll never remember to look here when I’m done.
Of course, now I can’t find it.
To add insult to injury, I’ve since discovered I already own a paper version of the book and I’ve read it before. And it wasn’t particularly helpful the first time through. The only thing that would make this more perfectly ironic would be if I’d lost the book I rented on mindfulness.
It’s a Zen koan, Zesties, designed to blow your mind like the ToolMaster’s always doing to me when we’re watching TV.
Me: I wish this show came with enclosed captioning. I can’t hear what they’re saying with those thick British accents.
ToolMaster: What’s that?
Me: I said I wished this show came with enclosed captioning. I can’t hear what they’re— Oh, never mind. Grrrr. Twenty-six years and I’m still falling for that line.I can’t believe how gullible—
ToolMaster: What’s that?
Me: I said it’s taken me twenty-six years and I’m still falling for–
Look, all I’m saying is that if you hear of a murder-suicide in Alberta, Canada and the weapon is a TV remote, don’t be so judge-y. Chances are there’s a similar backstory.
On the other hand, the ToolMaster’s thought processes are catching. To wit:
Library: Ms. O’Hara, we’re calling because your book is overdue.
Me: Which one is that?
Library: On Creating a Foolproof Memory.
Me: Obviously, the fact I can’t locate it means it’s no good. Ergo, you’re a lousy steward of taxpayers’ money. If I pay for it, I’ll only encourage your business model and be responsible for the bankrupting of Canada.
Library: <after a period of sputtering> Our readers have given that book one hundred 5-star reviews.
Me: That’s because by the time people get through the rigmarole of your website,with their still-faulty memories, they don’t remember what was so awful about it. Get an actually helpful book on memory, and you’ll have more accurate readings.
Library: <lots of stuff, which boils down to “We’re happy with our website. It’s a good book. You’re the one with a screw loose.”>
Me: Look, I can’t even remember your name and you introduced yourself not two minutes ago. If that book was doing its job–
Library, in triumphant tones: Ma’am, I didn’t tell you my name.
Me: Then why aren’t we talking about the book I borrowed on manners?
On a practical note, I forgot to let you guys know about my recent Writer Unboxed piece in which I wax lyrical about my dancing class. I think. See what I mean about my memory?