Last Tuesday, I frightened a poor woman that was going through my trash. My pessimistic mind flashed to identity theft. In reality, the woman was collecting the cans out of the trash. So, I told her that I would save them for her in a separate can.

Today, just as I was taking the garbage to the curb, she came up the hill. I told her that I had the cans for her. I think she appreciated the fact that I separated them for her.

I want to be charitable, but I still can't help feel uncomfortable about people rummaging my garbage. This bugs me so much that I shred mail with our names and address on it. I know paranoia. At least, I sleep well at night.

Another friend got me thinking about my websites. She said that I give out too much information on them. Okay, I am thinking about that. What is a writer to do?