I Need An I-Touch

Why? Because...there's an app for that.

Is there any OTHER reason to have one? To me it sounds like the pharmacy of the techno world. I mostly am wondering if it could help me with the biggest phobia I have. Disposaphobia. The fear of throwing things away.

Because I need blog topics I thought maybe I'd go through a memory box or two or seven. I went down to the basement and got this teeny tiny box. Downright small I tell ya. But the contents. Oh my.

Take for instance this guy.
He's what I call a "Harold suspect". When I was about 11 or 12 years old I was entertaining my neighbors. I was goofy kid. I liked to make people laugh. So as I was roaming the neighborhood on my bike I happened upon this smooth round crisp white rock. I picked it up and began to tell the kids around me all about him. His name was Harold. Harold had a life. Yes. Harold was cream of the crop. I was adopting Harold. So I finished an elaborate tale about him and promptly put him into the handkerchief that was tied to the "boy's bar" of my ten-speed bike. Harold was indeed riding in style as I usually reserved the handkerchief for this guy...
(my pet Guinea Pig, Penwick)

But somewhere along the way home I lost Harold. So from that day on I collected Harold suspects. Rocks that MIGHT in fact BE Harold. My long lost rock.

Just a few of the suspects. They are leaving town tonight. In a drove. I am letting go. Goodbye my suspect rock friends.

I'm also getting rid of this thing...
I mean I've only had it since the SIXTH grade!!! Care of Children's Hospital when I was diagnosed with Mastoiditis. It did a fine job of posititioning my arm for IVs but it's time to let it go. I thought maybe I needed a momento but I am still doing a fine job of remembering that event.

I was positive I got Mastoiditis because I let a "cool" high-schooler talk me into taking a puff of her cigarette. God was punishing me I thought. Or maybe somehow the closeness of cigarette smoke was infecting my ear. I'm partially deaf in my left ear now. So if I make it a point to position my left ear to you take the hint and be quiet. JUST KIDDING. Whatever the cause I was there. Hospitalized. And forced to endure way too many IVs. NOT COOL. The last night I was there I threw a terrible tantrum in my hospital bed. I screamed and kicked and pounded because they were going to draw yet another line. I had had enough and told them so. I was not a happy camper. Honestly looking back? Somebody should have spanked my bratty behind. Especially since I also remember visiting a little boy in the next room, a few years younger, who was having far worse issues than me.

I remember my dad taking me to the grocery store after we left the hospital. He told me to pick out anything I wanted. I picked a pack of spearmint Freshen Up gum and a coconut. Unlike a few of my other hospital stays I was NOT happy to return home to a full house of siblings. I had come to enjoy my parental visits where they belonged ONLY to ME for an hour or two a night. I cried like a spoiled brat more than once. Sorry sis, bro, sis and bro. I do love you. But it was "me" time. My inner middle child relishing in parental attention. Even if it did mean enduring needle weilding nurses.