I was informed by a friend this week that there seems to be a growing trend in my columns. Pardon my French, but his exact words were that I like to blow sunshine up peoples’ asses.

With the recent trend of weather, this doesn’t seem to be necessary now. So, in lieu of that, I’d just like to say that this is not going to be one of my typical “happy” columns. I thought I would do something different. At the risk of sounding like some of the ticked off people who write into this paper, I’m going to vent.

I have this really bad habit that has only heightened since I got to college. I know you’re thinking — laziness, overeating, alcohol or maybe even drugs. Let me assure you, it’s nothing like that. My problem is that I have an unbelievable knack of losing things.

Scoff if you must, but this has become a serious problem for me. I’m losing important stuff here. I mean we’re talking papers, assignments, clothes, keys, paychecks, checkbooks — the list goes on and on.

It started out as little things. For instance, when I was younger, I’d lose my shoes a lot. More than once I can remember turning my room upside down looking for them. They’d always turn up in the weirdest places too, like the roof or my cat’s litter box. Don’t ask.

When I got a little older, my wallet became the object of my forgetfulness. I’d find it in places ranging from the seat cushions of a couch to the back pocket of a brand-clean pair of pants. In fact, I would bet money that I have the cleanest wallet on the face of the Earth. That sucker’s been through the wash more times than a Kevin Costner movie. I have no idea what that just meant, but did you see “The Postman?”

But now the problem can no longer be ignored. If I were an alcoholic, I’d be checking into a clinic. I had hoped that there might be a Ronald Reagan Clinic for forgetfulness, but no such luck.

Where does it all go? Nobody, not even me, can be so forgetful as to misplace the paper he or she had been working on for the past four hours. That’s a hypothetical situation by the way — I never did that.

I have researched a few possible explanations. There’s the somewhat Freudian theory that says we intentionally lose things. When we set something down, our subconscious tells us we no longer need that item in our lives. So we forget where we put it.

I’m not too keen on this theory. If it were true, I must have the dumbest subconscious in the world. Why would it even think that I would no longer need my car keys, or that paper I’d been working on for the past four hours, hypothetically speaking.

I’ve seen the movie “The Borrowers.” The theory behind this movie, which was originally a book, is that there are these little people living in the walls. When a person leaves something somewhere, these little beings come out and take it. That is why it’s hard to find something once you’ve lost it.

This theory may ring true for some people, but it just doesn’t fly with me. First of all, I don’t see what in the heck these borrower guys would want with a pair of my tighty-whities. Thinking about it kind of scares me. And second, these are little people living in your walls. I mean, come on, that couldn’t happen, could it?

There just seems to be no rational explanation for why we lose things. Which means I’m back to my previous option of checking into a clinic.

I would hope that you realize I’m not really suggesting there be a clinic established. I’m only venting, remember? Actually, the more I think about it, the more I think I’ve been pretty lucky in this area.

Though I have lost a jacket, a computer disc and yes, a paper, I still have managed to hold on to the important stuff. I haven’t lost my dreams, I haven’t lost my way and I haven’t lost my laugh. Those are hard things to hold onto in this life.

Just ask Kevin Costner.

Jackson Lashier is a freshman in journalism and mass communication from Marshalltown.