Sometimes I am an idiot.

Correction: Most times. Most times I am an idiot. But sometimes my actions instill fear (in me and probably others) for my failing mind and make me woefully aware of what a burden I am.

I am sitting at the Portland International Airport, waiting. I am about to head 3,000 miles East to visit with a few of my dearest friends. I have checked my luggage, but I have yet to go through security. Why the wait, you may wonder. Well let me first tell you that I did remember a few things that I usually forget: my dslr, its charger and usb cable, my fitbit's charger, my iPhone charger, my supplements, gum, a coat and a jacket. Pretty good right? Laptop and power cord? Check and check.

Unfortunately, I forgot my phone. Yep. My phone. That little delightful concoction of plastic, metal and glass that would tell me where Jen lives/where I am supposed to travel to when I arrive at JFK. I realized this as my sweet, (and sick with a bad cold) mother dropped me off. She decided to race to go get my phone and bring it back to me, like a saint. And I decided to sit near the ticket counters, hoping the line for security stays really short and that I'll be able to dash through it and make it to my gate in time.

Oy vey, Molls. I used to have such hope for you... And thanks mom, for helping me, yet again.

This made me think of the time when I left my phone at my house in Provo when I was flying home for Christmas one time. I would love to be more responsible or even more remember-ible. If I had remembered my phone, I could be playing songpop and not have elevated cortisol levels, and I could have not made my mother drive the 20 miles each way to the airport 4 times. Oh and did I mention I didn't have enough gas in my car to make all of those trips? Well I didn't.

I would make a terrible boy scout.