I like to collect coins. I've always liked to collect coins. I don't mean rare extraordinary valuable coins. I mean all coins. I sort denominations into different tins. I especially like pennies because there's no real need to ever spend them.

I used to collect a lot of things. Once upon a time I collected crayons. This was a little difficult because I was six and kept eating them. But I persevered. At one time I had over 400 crayons. Many of them were repeats of the same color, but I didn't mind.

In my first year away from home I saved store receipts. I knew something awful would happen if I couldn't account for every single purchase. I pictured little bald men in white coats coming after me, possible with butterfly nets.

The cognitive behavioral therapist, Ted, whom I was seeing at the time impressed upon me that this was absolute bullshit.

“That's absolutely crazy, Marjorie,” he said. “There are no little men in white coats coming after you, that's absolutely absurd. Throw away the store receipts.”

I stuck to my guns. “You can't prove there are no little men in white coats,” I said. It was true; he couldn't.

“You can't prove there are,” he retorted.

This was true; I couldn't. I pondered the implications.

“Alright, I'll throw out the receipts,” I finally agreed . But to be on the safe side, I had someone else do it.