Request #004: My Mind (I Had It This Morning)
REQUEST #: 004
ITEM: Mind
LAST SEEN: This morning. Pretty sure.
STATUS: Pending
She walked in fast. Not rushed, just like stopping would make something worse.
“I think I lost my mind,” she said.
I nodded. That still seemed to be the correct response.
“When was the last time you had it?” I asked.
“This morning,” she said. “I remember having it. I was using it.”
I wrote that down. “Where were you?”
“Everywhere,” she said. “That’s part of the problem.”
That felt accurate. “I’ll check the back.”
“Please do,” she said. “If you find it, tell it I’m not mad.”
I nodded. That also seemed correct.
The back room door was closed again. I opened it.
Inside looked more organized than before. Not neat, just… grouped.
A sign hung over a long section of shelves:
Minds (By Type)
That made it easier.
Each shelf held a different kind.
The first shelf:
Quiet minds
Everything was still. Containers sealed. Nothing moving.
Next:
Focused minds
Neatly arranged. One thing at a time. Very little extra.
Next:
Distracted minds
Too many things open at once. Half-finished thoughts everywhere.
Next:
Overloaded minds
That one was harder to look at.
Things stacked too close together. Some spilling out. Some pulling in different directions at the same time.
I stepped closer.
There were labels on the containers, but they overlapped.
- “Don’t forget this”
- “Also this”
- “Check this later”
- “What about that?”
Some were repeating.
Some were louder than others.
One container near the middle stood out.
It wasn’t broken.
Just… full.
Really full.
Things inside it were moving quickly.
Memories. To-do lists. Conversations. Things that hadn’t happened yet.
All of it pulling at once.
There was a label, slightly bent:
This is mine, I think
That felt close enough.
I picked it up.
It didn’t settle.
It kept moving.
I brought it to the front.
She was pacing in the same small loop.
“Did you find it?” she asked.
“Maybe,” I said.
She looked at the container.
Didn’t open it right away.
Then she nodded.
“Yeah,” she said. “That’s mine.”
She opened it.
Looked inside.
“Oh,” she said.
She stood still for a second.
Then a little longer.
“That’s… a lot,” she said.
She kept looking.
Things inside were still moving. Pulling. Shifting.
“Do I have to take all of it?” she asked.
“I don’t think so,” I said.
She nodded.
Reached in carefully.
Like she didn’t want to set anything off.
She pulled out a smaller piece.
Held it.
“That feels like enough,” she said.
She closed the container.
Didn’t take the rest.
“Can I leave this here?” she asked.
“I think so,” I said.
She nodded quickly.
“Good,” she said. “It was doing too much.”
She held the smaller piece.
Didn’t bag it.
Just held it.
“Will it stay like this?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” I said.
She nodded like that was fair.
At the door, she stopped.
“If it comes back,” she said, “can I return it again?”
I nodded.
“That seems to happen.”
She left.
The bell didn’t ring.
I looked down at the form.
STATUS: Partially Recovered (Reduced Load)
I hadn’t touched it.
From the back room, something shifted again.
I didn’t go check.
Next request processed Monday.
