Discombobulation

Maybe it's stress. Or age. Or hormones. Or the constant fucking rain** we're having. Or just me turning helpless because I'm tired of taking care of myself or something. But whatever it is, I've been stupider, clumsier, and generally lamer than usual lately.

( ** )

Some of it is post-holidays techno-overload: I can't seem to untangle my headphone wires. My new Bluetooth car kit, which has only three buttons, seems kind of confusing to me. And my new "convergence device"--designed to let me listen to music, connect to the internet, read ebooks, check my calendar, send text messages, maintain my little black book, teleport to Venus while it vacuums my living room and talk on the phone--is all...complicated and stuff.

The internet servers at work have been choking for days, and that always makes me feel disconnected and spacy.

So when I left my wallet on the bus--because I was listening to music and reading a novel on my "convergence device," and the big wallet that's supposed to serve as its case, but doesn't quite fit or work right but was very beautiful and not-cheap so I keep using it, fell out of my bag and I didn't notice it because of the music (it was bluegrass, for the record)--I started to think I had a problem with my brain being missing.

The bad: of course I cancelled my plastic and must now wait for replacements and reset the credit card number that's on file with every company I pay monthly bills to.

The good: My "convergence device" was plugged into my head at the time, so at least I didn't lose that.

And some great good fairly decent soul on the bus turned the wallet in to the Tri-Met lost and found minus only the few American dollars that were in it (they left the British five-pound note). So I have it back, driver's license, bus pass, memorial Serenity ticket stub and all.

Now, how to de-discombobulate myself...?

I'm thinking another vacation would be in order.

Petty crime

I wish I could blame this story on my recent discombobulation, but I can't.

I'm walking from the bus stop this evening (in the endless rain, and the dark, chatting on the "convergence device"), when just as I approach my house a sheriff's car pulls up. I put my friend on hold and politely turn to the deputy who gets out. I am always polite to law enforcement. Except when they piss me off a lot.

We establish that I am who I am, and he serves me with a warrant.

I'm all, whoa.

It seems that I have ignored my county tax bill for quite a long time, and the county is taking me to small claims court.

Lest you think this troubles me: I kind of laugh, and thank the nice law officer. He seems disgusted with me and my petty crime. (He was very young.)

The irony is that though I've been too lazy to file a tax return with the county for a couple of years (they're not on TurboTax, see), I've been paying my taxes all along through a payroll deduction at my work, and chances are the county actually owes me a refund.

But I suppose I need to do some rendering unto Caesar, in the form of paperwork, to get that straightened out somewhere besides in my own mind, huh?