Has Something Gone Afoul?

I have been doing some extremely uncharacteristic things, and it's starting to worry me. If this continues, I'm going to be asking one of you to examine the back of my neck for signs that anything has been implanted or injected in such a way as to tamper with my brain.

Twice in the past week I have gone into some sort of fugue state and found myself... cleaning closets. Seriously. I know you're shocked. I, who steadfastly refuses to clean up visible messes, was actually sorting through thirteen years of accumulated mess in a place that I can't even see. And when I say "can't even see," I'm not exaggerating. These closets were so full - overflowing, actually - that the doors were stressed to the point of bursting and couldn't slide on their tracks anymore.

Closet #1 yielded several bags of trash, two bags of clothes for Goodwill, and two or three bags of craft supplies (because I'm big on ideas and fail utterly at completion).

I found all kinds of cool things, the first of which was a red and black vampire cape, which I wore throughout the rest of the project. I figured if I was going to pretend to be someone who cleans things, I could pretend to be a vampire who cleans things.

I also found a pair of black suede oxfords that I have absolutely no recollection of ever owning, a bag of seashells we gathered on our last trip to the beach in 1989, a rock shaped like a penis (no idea where I found that, or when), my religion textbook from my senior year in high school, a purse containing a three year old energy bar, and a Trixie Belden mystery (way cooler than Nancy Drew).

This process was repeated yesterday with the other bedroom closet. This time, one bag of craft stuff, five bags of stuff for Goodwill, and one full trash bin out in the driveway. I found about eight assorted duffel bags and/or carry-ons (Where the hell did I get all these, and why do I have them??? I don't even go anywhere!), a bridesmaid gown, two whole bags' worth of sheets (including water bed sheets, and we haven't had a water bed for ten years), a nun's habit (from Halloween, circa 1994) (Tom was a demon monk), and two pairs of black dress shoes (including some cute strappy sandals that I would swear I'd never seen before). I guess every time I need black shoes I say, "I don't have any," and go buy a pair. I then wear them, throw them in the closet, and forget they ever existed.

The other unusual thing I did happened yesterday. I went to Wal-Mart. Twice. In one day.

Wal-Mart.

Twice.

In one day.

I don't think I'd been to Wal-Mart twice in the last four months. Probably longer. Because I loathe Wal-Mart. Not so much for the sprawling, corporation-that-ate-the-world reasons, but because it always seems to be full of screamy little snot-machines (children). Plus, I've seen the People of Wal-Mart website, and it's disgusting, and I don't have a camera in my phone, and I'd hate to run into someone worthy of being depicted on the site and not be able to do anything about it.

Wal-Mart is conveniently located two miles from my house. Super Target, however, is located an even more convenient quarter mile away. Plus, their stuff is a teeny bit nicer. Tom always complains that I pay more at Super Target, but as far as I'm concerned, it's worth it. Besides being more conveniently located and having a slightly higher quality of crap, the bratty-child quotient is considerably lower. Totally worth it. I mean, I'm paying a few cents more for discount junk... not shopping the designer collections at Neiman Marcus. Which is fine, because a $20 pair of shoes or a $500 pair of shoes... I can't tell the difference, and I'm just going to throw them in the closet and forget I own them anyway.

Yesterday, though, I needed craft supplies - specifically yarn. Super Target does not have yarn. The nearest craft store is 15 miles away. So... Wal-Mart.

To begin with, they've rearranged the interior of the store. I do not approve. The vitamins weren't where they used to be, resulting in my not buying my sublingual B-12. The seasonal junk is where the pet supplies used to be. The craft stuff is where the shoes used to be. I have no idea where the shoes are now. Or the books. It was all very unsettling and disorienting. My "get in and get the hell out" strategy was destroyed. I was there. For. Ever.

By the time I left, I had obtained mascara, black fishnet thigh-highs (another thing Super Target doesn't have), 8 balls of 100% cotton yarn, a purple and black ruffled Miley Cyrus mini-dress (shut up, I liked it, it's terribly cute, and I can wear whatever I want as long as I do not subject the general public to it), turquoise sweat pants, a turquoise/green/white print long-sleeve shirt, and a crochet pattern book.

Except I left the crochet pattern book in the cart and consequently never checked it out. I discovered this while unloading the bags at home. In disgust, I went to my craft-basket (which was much easier now that I've cleaned the closet and only have a craft basket instead of sixteen bags of tangled, disorganized crap) and got out all my patterns. I found a couple of patterns that would be acceptable... but both of them required more yarn than I'd bought.

I either needed 2 more balls of yarn or the pattern book containing the project I'd planned, and which required the amount of yarn I'd actually purchased. Back in the car. Back to Wal-Mart.

I got both the pattern book and the extra yarn, because no way in hell was I going to take the risk of having to go back a third time.

In between trips to Wal-Mart, I also went to the library. This was the only typical thing about the entire day. The scariest part is that this all happened before noon. I'm usually still on the Sofur drinking coffee at noon.

If I get any more Stepford-y or begin to exhibit any additional odd behaviors, please investigate. I'll tell you I'm fine, but that's what the person who has been invaded by the pod people always says. Don't believe me. I'll be lying. It shall be your duty to liberate me from my crafty, cleany, Wal-Mart shopping hell and allow me to return to my peaceful, slovenly, lazy, filth-filled existence.

Seriously, it will all be up to you. Tom isn't going to do a damned thing about it till I finish all the closets, and by then it will be too late.