I made a list the other day of the things I lose the most: keys, wallet, my sportswatch, and a small blue notebook with a bungee cord closure that I love. I always find the key in question, often in a car or a door, so that’s handy, for me and potential thieves.  My wallet always turns up, everything in tact, interestingly enough, exactly where I didn’t hide it so well in my car. The sportswatch is either where I left it last or on my daughter’s wrist. Easy.

But that damned blue notebook is not playing by the rules. 1) I notice I can’t find something. 2) I don’t worry an iota because I have faith in my powers of recall. 3) It will turn up; everything always does. 4) A cursory look shows it isn’t where I want it to be. 5) I get a little queasy. 6) I look some more. 7) I think I’ve lost my mind. What have I done with it? Who is using it to no good purpose? 8)I am forced to clean my house to unearth lost thing. 9) I find it.

But this time, I have a sneaking suspicion I left it in a doctor’s office, or in someone else’s car, or perhaps in one of three other states or two other houses. It still could turn up.  And I really haven’t done the definitive clean up of my house (ain’t that the truth) mostly because I’m lazy and secondarily because when I don’t find it then, I will be very sad.  Honestly, given that I can’t remember what’s in the notebook anymore, it’s unlikely that its contents are more valuable than my wallet’s, but they could be more embarrassing. Good thing my handwriting is illegible.