Sometime last month, I stopped paying my bills.
I hadn't intended to stop paying them, per se, I had just run out of checks on my personal checking account, and hadn't wanted to write checks from our joint account. Not that I had actually used all of the checks I had for my account. More like, I couldn't find them.
I know that the last check I wrote was numbered in the 1700s. I also know I have a couple checkbooks lying around with checks in the 1800s. They were around here somewhere, I couldn't find them anywhere.
Two months ago, I lost my passport. Over the next two months, I've lost maybe another half dozen things, the loss of which have only frustrated me more, the more I lose.
Now, here was the worst part about losing those checks: I knew they were around here somewhere. I know, because I hid them.
I was so clever with my hiding spot that, well, even I couldn't find them.
So, I had a hundred checks around here somewhere, and I wasn't paying my bills until I found them, and I couldn't find them.
Not that I haven't looked for them. I've found two stashes of checks for the other accounts we have, but not for my personal account. I found checks from accounts closed years ago, but not those checks.
Nothing like being so clever that you fool even yourself.
Quite accidently, and incredibly loudly, I found the stash of checks this evening. Happy, happy, joy, joy, I can pay my bills.
Or, rather, keep the bill collectors at away.