the case of the unknown charger

You can't really grasp what a big, beautiful country this is until you drive through it. I drove through vast cornfields and skyscapes. Through clouds in the mountains, through tall cities and tiny towns. (And many, many rest stops, at one of which, in Ohio, I found a pair of shoes parked next to me. I can think of many explanations, but the true one will remain a mystery to me.) And then I came upon the vision of the greatest city in the world, getting taller by the day. I wanted to take the picture—well, I wanted to take a lot of pictures—but I was driving, alas, hauling ass for the stable.

I returned home to The Case of the Unknown Charger. And the unknown laundry basket, pillow cases, towel, diary, nightlight, stuffed toy, frozen pizza, sea salt,  various gifts from who knows who, etc. etc. Also a mystery pair of men's Birkenstocks. And I realized what a hopeless creature of habit I am. I am used to having everything where I placed it, but when several batches of people have been living in your house, stuff moves around. (And also I don't necessarily remember myself where a certain extension cord was plugged in.) I guess I am getting old and set in my ways, though Hannah says I have always been like this.

   It feels odd to drink water from the tap. And to flush the toilet every time.

   And this morning I woke up in a strange bed: my own.