Just Move it Around

I have a slew of short comings - some - more serious than others. One of those many short comings has intensified over the course of the last week. Embarrassingly, I must confess to spending a great deal of my energy draining the last drop of juice (scientific term), out of batteries.

At present, the batteries in my toothbrush and television remote are stretching the boundaries of electrical feasibility and common-sense expectation. Powered by what has to be only electrical vapors, my toothbrush now intermittently cuts out while using it. I whack the toothbrush on the bathroom counter hoping to jar loose the last remaining particle of chemical energy stored inside. And while using the TV remote, I’ve now taken to wielding my arm around wildly while pressing brutishly on the buttons. Hand to God - I’ve met with some success using both of these methods. 

Its not just that the batteries are expensive. Its more than that. Although, I will say, I’m not fond of dropping a small fortune on a small, but heavy, bag of batteries. But that’s not it. The problem is I don’t care for the whole process of replacing the batteries.  Best case scenario: one good pop and the little trap-door opens, the old batteries tumble onto the floor or they get pried from their little cocoon with my fingernail. Worst case scenario: discovering that dreaded, almost invisible screw that seals the battery door closed, and subsequently, impenetrable to those that do not have, readily available, an itsy bitsy screwdriver.

I would think I’d be eager to swap out the old batteries. The thrust of life that surges through the toothbrush once its humming on fully loaded batteries is reason enough to prematurely change them. But no. I patiently wait, allowing time for a slow, agonizing death. Finally, once the battery has coughed up its last spittle of energy, I reluctantly wriggle the cap from the bottom of the toothbrush. Taking the appropriate time to clean the dried toothpaste from places near impossible for it to travel, I replace the batteries (placing them upside down before placing them right side up), then beat the tar out of the toothbrush for about ten minutes in an attempt to get the cap back on. After utlizing Hercules-like strength, I finally succeed; pushing the switch, the brush now springs to life.

I should try, for a while, living life fully charged. Doing so would require breaking some well ingrained bad habits, but I think it would be worth a try. It seems though, I would rather waste my energy than (God forbid), waste the few drops of energy left in a battery about the size of my pinky. 

Sane