A Lampshade on My Dresser

I mail things all the time -- usually a few times per month.  Priority boxies, media mail, letters, postcards -- yes, you might say I'm a mailing veteran.  But sometimes I've got something to mail, something just sitting on a table in my office or on my dresser or something.  It's something I want to send to someone.  But it just sits and sits.  It sits so damn long that I begin to think of it as part of my apartment's furnishings.  Maybe it's always been there.  Maybe it belongs there.  But it doesn't.  It belongs in a box in the damn mail.

I promised a friend, when she moved a few months back, that I would send along an item to her.  It was nothing particularly important, but just something she hadn't been able to find a spot for in either her luggage or her boxes, owing to its odd shape and somewhat delicate nature -- a lampshade of all things.  And so the lampshade sits on my dresser.  Recently it made it as far as my car, but I didn't get to the post office that week, so back I brought it inside my apartment so as not to risk damaging it.  On the dresser; not in a box, in the mail, on its way to its owner.  I apologize to the owner.

Sorry Excuses:  "I'll do it another time."
Verdict:  lazy and forgetful
Prognosis:  I know where the post office is, and I just need a box for it.  Just do it now.