I had three things to do today. A job interview with a temp agency in the morning, which thankfully was online. Bringing some clothes to a thrift store. And going to physical therapy.
When my interview is over, I decide to check the thrift store and realise they have changed the day and time when you could bring them stuff, as well as the system. It used to be every first and third Wednesday of the month. Now it is the second Wednesday of the month.
Oh well, I think. I'll just bring them to another thrift store instead. And then I don't have to go out today. If I have a reason not to leave my house, I often take it. Bad habit, I know. It's winter, okay.
Fast forward a few hours. I've received an e-mail from a couple who want to possibly adopt my two scaredy-cat foster kittens. When might they come for a visit?
What have I got going on this week, I think to myself. Oh, right, physical therapy. And that's when it hits me. "Oh my God," I exclaim, jumping up from my comfortable position on the couch. "I forgot to go to physical therapy!"
The plastic container on my lap flies in the air, scattering empty peanut shells all over, and so do my kittens. They had not been on my lap, but they are, as I said, scaredy-cats.
