I recently re-discovered the value of pennies.

I've started picking them up off the street now, despite the taboo that surrounds that very exercise. In fact, whole groups of people (those economic types) would have us believe that we'd be better off without pennies in our economies.

I used to be one of those people, I think. I'd see a penny on the ground (or a group of six or seven, even!) and just nonchalantly walk right past them.

Not anymore.

Perhaps it's the fact that I've been rather strapped for cash these past few months, and will continue to be so until the end of September until my first big paycheque from teaching comes through. Or perhaps it's the fact that the rather dysfunctional parking meter in the parking lot where I work presently accepts pennies as if they were nickels (and sometimes dimes!), saving me precious funds.

Or perhaps (most likely) it's because I've come to realize that certain things that seem to have little value at the present time or that I take for granted have been disappearing on me as of late. The trust of a good, good friend. The company of my girlfriend (no, I didn't make her disappear; she's leaving for Winnipeg in mid-August, and I can't go with her) for 10 months. My sanity, bit by bit.

Obviously this isn't a new revelation to most. But perhaps, by re-discovering the value of the one-cent coin, I can start to re-discover just what is important to me, or at least what should be important.

That, and I can park at work for 3 hours at the princely sum of sixty cents instead of the outlandish three dollars.

I'm sorry, Christa.