Unhealthy Obsession #1

I don't know who invented bubblewrap, but I would like to publicly thank that person, whoever he or she is, for the hours of entertainment I have gotten out of his (or her) fine invention.

I don't know why bubblewrap is such an immense pleasure to me, but I truly consider a sheet of new, unpopped bubblewrap to be the cherry on the frosting on my cake of life. I get a terrific sense of satisfaction out of those explosive POP!s and out of discovering every new little bubble of air that I can gleefully destroy. I can sit for hours, literally hours, making sure that I don't miss a single delicious circle. The popping noise doesn't bother me at all (provided I am the one making the noise) and I find it almost soothing to sit with a book in one hand and bubblewrap in another. Strangely, other people do not find my simple pleasure quite as soothing, so I have found it necessary to not only hide myself when the bubblewrap-popping mood overtakes me but also to hide my stash of bubblewrap.

I suppose bubblewrap also has a practical purpose in cushioning and protecting fragile items from becoming damaged when being packaged. And I'm sure it does its job admirably. I can't complain of any derelict bubblewrap failing to keep something in one piece. Perhaps my unhealthy love of bubblewrap developed with my love of getting mail now that I live so far from home. Or perhaps it's the other way around. Perhaps I enjoy getting mail because I never know what the packages will contain. One sheet of bubblewrap? Two? The anticipated hours of joy fill me with unbounded excitement. If I had known moving away would have resulted in a steady supply of plastic filled with compressed air bubbles, I would have left a lot sooner.