There’s a Sinkhole in My Head
We’ve all been thinking a lot about sinkholes this week, because of everything that’s happening in Florida, suddenly the sinkhole capital of the world. And the more I thought about sinkholes, the more I realized that I have sinkholes all over my life. To wit:
1. Sinkhole next to the phone in the kitchen. That’s where the unsigned, green high school athletic agreements have gone. Oh, plus the order form for spring lacrosse gear that was due today.
2. Sinkhole under the front seat of the car. That’s where the scraper/brush combo thingy is hiding.
3. Sinkhole in the family room. Contains: one remote; two mismatched socks; three empty king-size bags of Twizzlers.
4. Skinkhole in the pantry. Contains: the rest of the black and white cookies my husband bought over the weekend. Although, mysteriously, the package they came in is still there. ???
5. Sinkhole in the little ceramic bowl in the drawer near the car keys. The charming little bowl that I routinely fill with quarters for parking, and that the sinkhole routinely consumes. And then the sinkhole seals back up again! Tricky.
6. Sinkhole in my son’s backpack. Contains: his student I.D.; phone charger; Spanish textbook; science bibliography; and a bunch of other stuff I didn’t even know was missing, what with the general Pig-Penness of the whole operation.
7. Sinkhole in my head. This is the really big, really scary one. If I could ever get to the bottom of it, I might find: the name of my fifth grade homeroom teacher; the location of my tennis racket; the note I wrote to myself, reminding me to call the painter; the reason I have so many houseplants; the ability to read in bed without falling asleep. And much, much more.