I'm working on a migraine. Like it's a project or something. Hopefully I'll be done with it in a few hours thanks to modern medicine and a strategically-placed Sponge Bob ice pack.
I had this memory pop into my head and I wanted to write it down, migraine-be-damned. It'll probably mean editing this later as my motor skills tend to suck when I'm in pain, but we'll see.
When I was somewhere between the ages of toddlerhood and four years old, we lived in Pasadena in a house that had a mail slot that passed through the wall in the living room, as I recall. From the inside, there was a small door you would open to reach in and retrieve the mail that had been deposited inside by the mail carrier.
One day my mom was eating sunflower seeds and I asked if I could have some. I quickly decided the best part was sucking the salt off of the shells, but had no interest in doing the work to open them and eat the seeds.
Cue the mail slot.
I took my mouthful of freshly sucked shells, spat them into my hand, opened the door to the mail slot, and dropped them inside.
I never did develop a love for sunflower seeds, and I never found out what happened to that saltless pile I left in the mail slot.