I had to think hard about whether I'd opened it last night and simply forgotten. But the cotton wadding was in there, pulled aside as if the pills had been fished out. And that is not my habit. I always get rid of that stuff.
I threw the bottle away, but now I'm wondering if I should dig it out and try to remember which of three possible stores I bought it at, and contact them. Throwing it out seems cautious and mildly paranoid. Calling people up seems a lot more paranoid.
Especially since it's still possible that I did open it yesterday and simply didn't do my usual thing with the cotton. I have that kind of memory — I'll forget I performed small, routine actions quite literally as I'm performing them. I'm the kind of person who sometimes has to check the stove three times.
I'm old enough to remember the Tylenol killings. I'm sad that I have to think of that sort of thing now.
|Originally published at jlake.com.|