Thursday evening I had an episode like only Sara can.

I went to go biking along the Erie Canal after work. I unloaded my bike, water bottle, and helmet and got ready to go. I pulled my car key off my janitor-like ring of keys and prepared to slip it into my pocket. Only it didn't make it to my pocket. It slipped out of my hand and slid down between the driver's seat and the console. Oops. So I slid my hand down in there to retrieve it. The tips of my fingers touched it and as I tried to pull the key closer, it flipped away and under the seat. D'oh! So I went in up to my elbow, feeling around under the seat, but no key. I slid the seat forward and backward, up and down, giving that poor motor under the seat the biggest workout of its life. After 45 minutes of reaching from every direction I had found 5 pens, 2 pencils, a tube of chapstick, a perfume sample, 3 french fries and $0.56, but no key. My frustration and desperation was so great that I finally pulled out my Leatherman and, determined to show that seat who was boss, started to dismantle the front seat. Fortunately after getting a few trim pieces up, I hit a tight spot where I couldn't quite get the Phillips screw to turn and it slowed me down long enough for me to come to my senses. It would be dark in less than two hours and since the key I dropped not only locked my car, but also started it, I knew I had only one choice: bike the 4 miles home and get my spare key. So that's what I did. Except this was the first time I'd ridden my bike this spring and once I got started, it became quite apparent that there was a problem: my tires were flat. ::sigh:: Figures. But I perservered. And got back to my car before dark.

What is it about me that invites chaos?