Key to my post office box heart.

Sunday was daylight savings time - and you know what that means.

That's right. My sleep patterns are ... how do you say? Oh, yes. All fucked up.

But in addition to being tired at 9 p.m., it's also the time of year when I actually take the dogs for walks in the morning. This is fairly easy since I wake up way before my alarm. Because it is light outside. Which is dumb.

There's one house on our route that I try not to stare at. When the garage door is open, you can see a very nice organization system made entirely of cheap metal shelves ... and those white plastic bins that proclaim "Property of the U.S. Postal Service" on all sides.

Yes. My neighbors have built their entire garage organization system around stolen property.

I'm trying to get a count of the actual bins involved, but it's hard to do this while also walking two dachshunds, trying to avoid the homeowner's beagle, and managing the Herculean task of not looking like a nosy freak.

Today, though, I discovered the icing on the cake.

It was trash day. And Stolen Organization System Neighbor had their grey plastic trashcan on the curb. Their grey plastic trashcan that had "Mail Room" written in Sharpie on all sides.

Disgruntled mail clerk? Postal fetishist? Or shifty office worker who has taken lifting Post-Its and paperclips to a whole new level?

I wonder what the rest of the house looks like.