Pockets picked!

This afternoon I went to Dollar Tree to pick up two bags of chicken nuggets, a box of cheese sticks, and some AAA batteries. When I came to the checkout counter, I patted around my pockets. The $15 I had at the vending machines at work this morning had vanished. I was a victim of more of my self-inflicted prestidigitation where my attention is so profoundly drawn away that I never notice where my cash goes.

I’m angry. My pockets have been picked. I feel like I’ve been cheated out of an amazing amount of potential. Is it any wonder I never carry cash? Cash belongs to whoever has his/her grubby paws on it. A debit card and a bank attaches my name to the money.

I honestly think the money is cheated out of what it can do, too. It will never be used for several trips to Dollar Tree. Instead, it will make only one trip to a drug dealer. And after only a few hours, the hole that it filled will be empty again. It’s like trying to dig a hole in the ocean. It’s doomed to fruitlessness.

Okay, so maybe this is like being infected by a scareware where something wants me to believe I’m in more trouble I really am in. When money disappears like this, I always assume it’s the work of some chemical parasite that’s gotten into somebody whose face I’ll never see. The money might be put to good use, but my angry mind refuses to conceive it.

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