Phantom grain syndrome

As I walk into my room, I feel something on the sole of my foot. It’s hard enough to make an impression, yet small enough to go undetected before stepping on it. Turning over my foot I see it’s a grain of uncooked rice.

What’s a grain of rice doing in my bedroom? I think. My room isn’t anywhere near the kitchen and I vacuumed a few days ago. So, what the fuck is it doing in my spotless room? I haven’t eaten rice for the past several days, and meals are usually accompanied with pasta, potatoes or vegetables. Hmmm...

To be honest, I shouldn't be too surprised since this has happened before; on many occasions. There is always a grain of rice that follows me around, and it's never the same one. Although I throw it in the garbage, it always comes back - phantom grain syndrome.

The first time it didn't bother me, but after a decade, it's pissing me off. Throughout those 10 years, there must've been millions of them. If I kept them all, I would've filled thousands of those 10 kg bags that are available at the supermarket. Fuck, if I get some strips of meat, soy sauce, and a flame, I can turn my bedroom into the fuckin' Korean Grill House.

I lay the grain on top of my dresser, right at the corner, so I won’t forget to throw it in the toilet. When it’s dropped in the bowl, I make sure it disappears in a swirl of rushing water.

If I step on another grain of rice, I know it's time to start bagging it.

Note: Happy Thanksgiving to my two U.S. readers!