I called you like 36 times. Are you punishing me?

Here is the culmination of my lunch hour today, during which I waited 45 minutes for my landlord to come let me into my house because I forgot my keys at home when I left for work and my husband had gone to work when I came home for lunch and would not answer his phone. The landlord never came, and so I went back to work after waiting all that time and ate greasy cafeteria pizza for lunch. Later in the afternoon I e-mailed The Huz:

I could see my keys on the coffee table, and I tried as hard as I could to will them to float through the livingroom and through the wall so I could just eat some fucking tortellini.

If I'm this forgetful in my early twenties, the future looks grim.