We’re Buggin’-Out!

Writer’s Digest blogger, Zachary Petit, asks writers what they would bring in their bug-out bag. http://www.writersdigest.com/editor-blogs/there-are-no-rules/bug-out-bags-for-writers I’m curious too.

I’d bring notebook, pen, bottle of wine, peanut butter, and of course a spork. Where would the world be without sporks?

What would you bring?

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The Blackbird Conspiracy

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In the last two months I have discovered that several of my personal items have disappeared. I have no roommate, except of course my cat, and since she has the ambition of a sloth, I seriously doubt she had anything to do with this conspiracy.

I had two complete pairs of socks when I started the laundry, now I have one mismatched pair and two missing socks.The cat brush was on the book shelf. My iPod was in my purse. The fancy-dancy spork was in my lunch bag. They were all here two months ago, then poof! Gone.

I have a theory. It has something to do with the sock gremlins, fried rice, and the little blackbird statue on my shelf. By day, it sits on my shelf, the little turquoise stone in its beak, with a virtuous smile on it’s face. But, by night, ah yes, by night there is a whole different story. I predict that at night, my little bird friend comes alive and guides the sock gremlins toward my possessions.

“She’ll never know” it whispers to the gremlins, enticing them to step beyond the boundaries of sock thievery. This  innocent looking bird has enabled the gremlins secret addiction to fried rice, leaving out grains here and there, enticing them to fall off that tiny wagon. That’s how the blackbird was able to convince the gremlins to do its bidding, stealing my iPod, spork, and cat brush.

But two days ago, I got rid of the last of the left over fried rice, took out the garbage and never gave it a thought, until now. This morning, I discovered the cat brush, which is habitually left on the book shelf, in the bin with my brushes, and the spork and my iPod miraculously reappeared as well. They were in the backpack that I had hanging on the back of my door. Without the control over their fried rice addiction, the little blackbird lost control over its gremlin minions and they rebelled, returning my belongings to random locations and whispering in my ear as I slept instructing me where to find them. So you see, it was clearly the little blackbird.

Sadly, the socks are the staple diet of those nocturnal gremlin creatures, so I fear I shall never see them again.