MORE GOOD NEWS!

I really hate to lose things. I hate to break things, too, but I know I can be remarkably careless so I don't torture myself in the same way. But losing things really depresses me. Although a breakage is a loss, it doesn't leave a hole in my consciousness the way misplacing something does.

Is it a value judgment that I am making on myself?

Yesterday, my iPhone went missing. (Fortunately, Louise's triumph colored my neurosis.) I remembered the last time I had remembered seeing Laphroig (such is the name of the cell phone) was outside my Saturday therapy appointment. It wasn't until I was safely home and unpacking my purse that I noticed it was not at hand. Twice I went down to the Honda to check and twice I found nothing. I looked between the seats and under them, but no luck. I checked in all the nooks and crannies that it had disappeared into before.

When I went into therapy, I vaguely remember seeing it on the table, but I thought I had put it back in my purse. I have been known, however, to leave my purse open, toss it on the floor, and find myself gathering the contents. Although I didn't exactly do this, it is possible that it could have fallen out or that I dropped it.

When I lose something I can almost always trace back to the moment where it left my possession or at least my consciousness. Some small tear appears in my personal bubble of being. There's a slight nag or snag in the groove. I didn't sleep very well knowing that something was amiss. 

K was kind enough to agree to meet me at our Saturday office so that we could scour. Could it have fallen between the couch cushions, or might have it been kicked under the couch ... left in the bathroom? Alas 'twas not there. And I was looking at trying to find another $150 of money I already don't have to get a replacement. 

I was sad and it just didn't feel right. I couldn't find the moment that my consciousness had dropped off. It didn't feel lost to me.

John and Melinda had borrowed the car to take Mel's relatives to the airport. When they got back I went out, calmly, one more time. Maybe I hadn't entirely searched behind the driver's seat. I looked everywhere again. No luck. And then I glimpsed a sliver of turquoise between the seat, the carpet, and the console. Wedged way down and back, in a no-person's land, and difficult to see, much less to reach, was Laphroig.

So, it was, all in all, a good weekend!