Lost and found is my eureka! blog, my rediscovery of my short fiction and poetry submissions published in literary magazines and university literary journals some decades ago. Interspersed, occasionally, with more recent, hitherto unpublished pieces.
Really, it's ridiculous. These items are my personal property. I wear them. They are indispensable in their basic utility. Yet no matter how much time I set aside to reasonably impress that simple fact on him, he fails to acknowledge that these things do not belong to him and his constant assumption that he is free to make off with them is becoming tiresome. His sister is much more reasonable. She never sneaks about to nose them out and make off with them, just her brother does. Of course, once he puts them proprietarily in the toy chest she assumes, reasonably enough, that they're fair game to play with. It's not as though he's deprived. He was presented with very similar items to regard as his personal possessions. He seemed pleased and played with them at first, but since placing them among his toys he ignores them and continues to seek mine out, relentlessly. When I rescue mine I can hear his little feet padding purposefully after me and I know the minute I leave them where I can handily retrieve them when needed, he'll reclaim them. They're my socks, my gloves. He's incorrigible.
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