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October 4, 2011
Because I'm apparently still traumatized from having lived through The Great Depression, I'm emotionally unable to throw out a perfectly good safety pin. The same goes for rubber bands. But whereas I have a cup in which I place the rubber bands, I don't have similar accommodations for pins, so I have to justify throwing them away. Thus, completely disregarding my anthropomorphism , I maim them, unhinging the sharp little leg from its resting place, bending it back so it's no longer usable. Still, I know I'm causing the pin pain, convince myself it's screaming, and feel like a monster.