I wrote this blog obsessively, too

That gardening book I'd gotten from the library about a month ago was still on my library card's "checked out" list. I'm borderline obsessive. Library books are in two places in my house -- in my hand, or in the basket. And it was in neither.

I swore I returned it, and I checked under the bed, in my car, in Dave's car (because he might've wanted to check out the latest in perennials, too, ya know), in the kitchen ... You get it. It was nowhere.

And the thing that kept popping into my head, besides the fee I'd have to pay if I didn't find it, was "Oh my God. And I just blogged that people who don't return things to the library are those brats from the playground. I wasn't a brat. I was a victim! He pushed me under the merry-go-round! I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Here, here's my lunch money!"

I was about to post about how I'd recanted, changed my story, forgiven all those who took that disc from the TV show "The L Word" in 2005 and hid it under your bed instead of returning it for me to watch years later.

I was just getting around to forgiveness.

But I swore I brought that book back. And I'm cheap. Frugal, sorry. Frugal.

And don't get me started on the library staff, who'd never remember but would make me think they did, that I, in 2007, forgot to return a book. No, LOST a book.

(At least it wasn't that JoJo CD I got for Dave as a joke last year. I prayed I wouldn't get in a car accident on the way to and from the library with THAT one.)

So I went to the library and yes, there it was. O! glorious book on the shelf, just not scanned in. No big deal, it happens. When it happens to me, I get a little more afraid than others. Because that's how I roll. Obsessively.