Things I’ve Been Meaning to Do

I’m finally getting around to things I’ve been meaning to do for awhile: removing myself from the mailing list of every catalog that comes to my door, pruning the shrubs that have begun to grow on my shoulders, reading the blogs of old high-school friends. But the world has an uncanny way of filling up my time.

For example, today I got a letter forwarded from my parents. It was a result, indirectly, of the first time I ever visited Boston.

I think it was 1997 or 1998, but I do know it was very cold and snowy, and that I got a ride up with my friend Cheryl, and that my girlfriend at the time was incredibly jealous. She didn’t need to be: I got a horrible case of strep throat and ended up spending a snowy evening in the ER, and the rest of the time on my friend’s couch watching bad movies and drinking tea (admittedly, we’d have spent most of the time watching bad movies and drinking beer, not running out picking up girls, but whatever).

Nothing happened for a long time, until apparently in early October 2005, someone with a similar name, or perhaps a social security number close to mine, or even just giving my name or social security number, got some bloodwork done. A bill was mailed to the address on file: my parents’ house.

I called and talked to a nice lady who said she’d help me sort it out, and hoped it wasn’t an inconvenience. I said, oh no, I just lost my job, so I have all the time in the world. She paused. I know it’s rude to make people uncomfortable that way, but it’s funny to me.

And now, to vacuum.