Once upon a time, there lived an ugly little planet.
Because it was too hideous for any god to consider it as a home for any decent creations, it attached itself to earth when nobody was looking. To keep itself entertained, it would commit small acts of larceny against Earth’s inhabitants. One sock out of a pair, car keys, katorchis and occasionally, cats.
By deploying miniature monkeys, this planet (that we’ll call Bog from this point on) was able to accumulate objects that it knew would be hard for owners to miss, but would make them really frustrated and uncomfortable once they realized that their property had literally disappeared off the face of the Earth.
Because Bog has been pulling this thieving stunt for a very long time, it recently ran out of space. Also, there’s only so much entertainment that socks, keys and earrings can offer anybody, much less Bog, a kleptomaniac planet of fierce ability and infinite evil.
Starting to itch for more power and bigger game, it sent its tiny monkeys on a mission to find a suitable host for possession.
After swinging around for about half a minute, the lazy minions got bored and jumped into the ears of the first person they saw and then secreted a terrible disease into their brain; a disease characterized by forgetfulness and disorientation. That person, Bog’s fateful victim, was and still is Apenyo Mildred.
Whenever I enter a room, sit down and then walk out of said room, I leave something behind. I unintentionally abandon valuable property, the absence of which will fill me with panic, sadness and self-loathing in that order. It doesn’t matter whether or not I’ve entered the room with anything desirable or even detachable. If I didn’t have anything to forget, the world, the very universe would be forced to create one.
I enter a church, I forget my notebook. I enter a hostel room, my hands fly to my ears, remove an ear stud and I leave it behind. I go to my friend’s house, I leave my muffins behind and take her glasses by mistake. I go to a video store and unwittingly make a donation of my music player. I swear, if I leave another beautiful book on the seat of one more boda boda, I’ll have to head butt something young and vulnerable or else risk implosion as a direct result of RAGE.
All this wouldn’t be so intolerable if I wanted to lose peoples’ property in revenge for sins they committed against me or if I actually meant to steal things; but it’s nothing like that. Some people say that objects react to and mirror rifts in relationships. Say Mary and Jane-best friends fall out; the jeans that Jane gave to Mary will get badly ripped in a taxi. The ring that Mary took from Jane will break. Anyway, none of this is applicable in my situation, dear friends. Your property in my possession is not getting lost because I’d like you to get lost. It’s this terrible disease from Bog that is turning my brain into soup.
What can a girl do to heal herself of such a terrible affliction? She can make lists. If I can find the motivation to make a list of everything in my possession before I leave the house and then keep consulting this list every half hour, maybe, just maybe I’ll be able to beat this madness.