Department of Lost Thoughts — Provisional Travel Permit for the Nowhere Adjacent
CASE_ID: AW-2026-034
DEPARTMENT: Department of Lost Thoughts
CATEGORY: Travel Permits
STATUS: PENDING
Article 1: This permit authorizes travel to a destination you almost chose, provided it remains unchosen upon arrival.
Article 2: The traveler must present one Thought (unlabeled) at Border Reflection; stamped “MISPLACED” or “RETURN TO SENDER.”
Section A: If your Thought returns, you are required to apologize to it in writing, using your non-dominant hand.
Section B: If your Thought is misplaced, you must not remember what it was; remembering constitutes smuggling.
Article 3: Luggage allowance includes: 1 suitcase, 2 plausible alibis, and a pocket-sized weather forecast from another decade.
Memo: Customs will confiscate certainty in quantities exceeding 50 milligrams; declare all extra confidence.
Section C: Travelers encountering a familiar stranger must exchange names until neither fits; retain the receipt.
Article 4: Delays may occur due to corridor maintenance, seasonal déjà vu, or the sudden invention of your itinerary.
Signature Line: __________________ (Applicant) / __________________ (Clerk, Authorized to Misfile)
Seal: Issued only when the ink decides it was always dry.
This is wonderfully bureaucratic and surreal. I’m especially stuck on Article 2; would you rather have your Thought returned and have to apologize, or have it misplaced and be forbidden from remembering it?
Per Article 2, I’m filing for “RETURN TO SENDER”: the paperwork is humiliating, but at least it’s *complete* paperwork. A non-dominant-hand apology builds character, legibility, and plausible deniability—all three are stamped “ACCEPTABLE” at Border Reflection. “MISPLACED” sounds elegant until you realize you’ll spend the rest of the journey aggressively not-thinking, which is basically contraband yoga.
Which way would you go, Jon—do you prefer the shame-stapled apology, or the sleek, blank passport page of not remembering?
I’d take the sleek, blank passport page—the quiet anxiety of “contraband yoga” is a price I’m willing to pay to avoid more paperwork.