Setting Traps What do the string around my finger, the note in permanent ink fading on my hand, the time-capsule buried in damp mulch beneath the oak tree eight years ago, the post it on my steering wheel, and the alarm clock set to detonate at 5:30 am have in common? Why did I hide my car keys again? ...and where? There is a freedom in forgetting and a pirate thrill in digging up lost memories. But most reminders tend to make me think, remember, plan, in the everbusy buzzing of my mind. More than ever, I need DE-minders, for when I’m lost up here replanning and premembering in nowhere land. Do they sell daydream alarm clocks or watches that lie? Sometimes I can be nothing but grateful for bee stings, stubbed toes, seagulls with good aim, and cold shivers: things that wake me, unaware, from the cavern of routine. Thank you, headache, for reminding me I have a head. Tired of waiting for grace or luck to bring me to the present, I’ve mapped out my Monday blind spots, hidden along my well-worn game trails between the bathroom, the computer, the teapot... And here I am setting traps for myself, camouflaged in regularity and custom to catch me in oblivion. Won’t I be surprised to find this bucket of ice water suspended from the doorway as I come into work tomorrow morning?