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I feel so foolish. There’s this stuff referred to as TLS, and it’s used for all sorts of special effects with polymer clay. I learned that this magical substance is Transparent Liquid Sculpey. I must have this stuff I decided, and announced, to my indulgent husband.

So we go to the next town over, the one with the craft stores. The first craft store doesn’t have it. Okay, we do a couple of the husband’s errands and head across Salem to check out the next craft store. Bingo, there it is.
But something nags at me as I look at the package. Somewhere in the back of my mind I feel that I know this packaging. I look at it. I ponder.

It dawns on me, slowly (for when things are dawning they are often doing so with a very lax attitude.) I have it at home. To be specific, I had it at home on the shelf next to the answering machine between a ceramic picture frame and a teak memory box, on top of an unopened package of 3 inch paper doilies.

Memory is a mysterious thing is it not?

I put the package back on the pegboard at the store, confessed to Matt that it was all for naught and silently prayed that the TLS at home vision in my mind was not a bad cosmic joke. And then I prayed again that if it were actually there, then I might have the good luck that it not be dried out or otherwise rendered unusable.

Upon returning home I found it, right where I saw it in my minds eye. The husband suggested that perhaps I was not actually remembering the TLS but remote viewing it. Given my penchant for forgetting things, I think that remote viewing is the most likely explanation. Occam’s razor is a pain isn’t it? In my case actually remembering something with so much detail would be nothing short of a paranormal answer.

You see, it was of vital importance that I have this stuff today. Vital. Very important. And yet once I had it in my grubby little paws, I could not recall for the life of me what my plans were. I’m sure I had plans.

Forgot what those plans were. Wrote them down in my notebook this morning, then lost the notebook. Seriously. Not joking. Generations from now some descendant of mine will find my notebook and write a single sentence synopsis “Great-great-great-grandmother Meyer was goofy.” That’s all it’ll say, that is the legacy that I’m leaving behind.

Why did I have the TLS in the first place you might ask? Don’t know, can’t answer. It was opened, so I can only assume that I have actually used it at least once. For what, or when– I cannot recall (I sound like I’m testifying before Congress.)