I don’t lose things. In fact, I’m one of those obnoxious people who know where everything is – I can tell you where your keys are, where you left your wallet, the location of that one thing you had that time at the place. I know where all my stuff is, and most likely yours. I am the Google of the household.
So it makes it that much more hard to accept when I actually do lose something and can’t for the life of me find it, regardless of how many times I tear the house apart.
In the last three months or so I lost my favourite necklace. No idea what happened to it; it just vanished. Gone. Nowhere to be found. I’m fucking choked about it; it was my favourite necklace and a gift from Ed and I wore it often. I took it off after work one day, and it disappeared into the void. I’ve looked *everywhere*, and the only thing I can think of is that a cat – most likely Lemon – batted it off whatever surface I placed it on, and it landed in the garbage or laundry bag or pile of stuff to be donated, and it’s gone forever. It makes my stomach hurt to think that, but I just can’t find it.
And if I feel that badly over losing a silver necklace, just think how delighted I am that I absolutely cannot find my wedding band anywhere in the house. I know I took it off one day *after* I had taken off the rest of my jewellery, then placed it on some surface that is not my desk. I’ve spent the better part of the week searching for it, and tonight saw me on my hands and knees with a dustbuster and a flashlight. No luck. Can’t find it. Losing a necklace is one thing, but this is my fucking wedding band and I’m worried I’ll never find it and .. fuck.
Oh, and naturally because I’m starting to lose things, I immediately assume I have Alzheimer’s. Being a melodramatic hypochondriac is not nearly all it’s cracked up to be.
UPDATE: Still no luck finding my wedding band, but Ed found my missing necklace under the couch, wrapped around a Zombie Ninja. YAY! One down, one to go!