Happy Happy Joy Joy! I've recovered from Michael Jackson syndrome in a big way, no more one-gloved days for me!

For some inexplicable reason most people tend to consider me a very organized person who's good with details. I have absolutely no clue where they would get such an idea, but I've not been inclined to disagree with them given that it is most often advanatgeous to be perceived as such. But if you want to know the truth, I am an ENFJ according to the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator. We ENFJs are by no means the people you want looking after the inventory.

That being said, I know one day the foundation upon which this alter-presona has been built will crumble around me and people will discover that I am, in fact, lack any natural ability in the area of details management (except, oddly enough I have a damn good memory for numbers, names and such). Most disturbing to me is the utter lack of control I have over the whereabouts of personal belongings. Now, I know everyone loses something once in awhile, but I think I excel in the 'missing things' department, which brings me back to today's opening line. In the past two months I have lost (and eventually found) my black glove at least seven times. Each MIA resulted in a slight panic attack, mad search of all possible hiding places, vocally disturbing sounds likened to 'I give up', a second & third search through all possible hiding places and final victory! But the last time I saw my both my black gloves together was at the University, so when I left the campus and discovered only one glove on my person, I knew it was finally over. There was brief period of mourning in which I refused to wear any other hand apparel despite -20 weather, but I eventually came to accept my loss and moved on.

As of late I've been wearing pink & green knit mittens. Not my usual style, but I just couldn't bear to replace my black gloves with anything similar. Today, I left the house without my pink & green mittens, for I could not find one of them. They had a short, but fulfilling life with my hands. But wait, just when I thought I would have to endure the rest of the winter bare-handed (I couldn't bear to lose another pair of mitts or gloves..I figured I was a menace to these poor accessories who ahd no choice in who their owners would be) Lo and Behold I discover my black glove! Innocently sitting on the heater in the downstairs Kelley building computer lab. Yes, there is hope for me and for all hand apparel that accompanies me on my journeys through winter in Canada.

Sadly enough, this is as exciting as my day has been so far. I have been reduced to telling tales of my gloves. Winter cannot end soon enough.