So at the end of the fiscal year our church underwent a financial audit. When the report came out a few months ago, it included the list of checks disbursed by the church that had never been cashed. These were all reimbursements for stuff; we have direct deposit for our paychecks—a gift from the Almighty, as you will soon see.

Anyway, let’s call this document the Spreadsheet of Shame—a list of those people who, it would seem, lack the basic organizational skills required to keep track of pieces of paper that are worth, like, money and stuff. My name appeared on that short list three, count ‘em, three times. They weren't huge amounts, but there they were: one check from January of 2004, another from March, and another from December. So apparently this is a systemic issue of mine. Or so it would appear, given the worried and quizzical looks shot my way when this report was presented to session.

So what on earth was going through their heads with my ineptitude at paperwork staring them in the face? Probably nothing horrible, they're good and understanding people, but it's probably too much to hope that they saw me in that moment as one of those brilliant creative artist earth-mother types who floats above such trivialities as reports and pieces of paper.

Yeah, probably not. 't'ain't me.

At any rate, the first two checks turned up yesterday, in a totally illogical place.

I blame the cats.


I’m on a crusade to speak the truth about the frequent chaos in which I find myself. It is good medicine for a recovering perfectionist. Part of an ongoing series of posts. Collect them all!