Gather 'round, for I have news!!
Not really. But I do have a rant, which is sometimes more entertaining.
People lose shit all the time. It's human nature or something to completely fucking forget where you put that vitally important object, like your keys, or your textbook, or your fucking contacts case. And it seems such things always inevitably wind up in some incongruous place, often called "The last place you look." Forget for the moment the pure and simple fact that, once the item is found, one logicallys stops looking for it, making the item's resting place naturally "The last place you have looked." In my experience, this "last place" is also often someplace that you actually thought up with the item in hand, saying to yourself, "I'm going to put this here, so that I'll remember where I put it. Nesting my textbook among my clean dishes in the dishwasher is genious!"
Now, if there's one thing that I've learned from my boyfriend (we'll set aside the obvious one that I'm sexy, because he sees fit to remind me and assure me of this multiple times each day, as if my sense of my personal sexiness could ever truly be lost) it's that it's not "the last place you look" which will yield the lost item of your search. It is, rather "The Stupid Place." Why were my keys behind the tv? Why were my shoes on the top shelf of the closet? Why was my chapstick in the sock drawer? HOW did my mother's birthday present end up on the back of the toilet?
I don't know the answer to any of those questions. I know only that the items were found in really stupid fucking places, and that I'm glad I checked there, even if I had to be mad with desperation at the time to actually do so.
I've learned this Stupid Place lesson well. I lose things a lot. It's a gift I have, it seems. So last night, when I got home from work and cast about for the location of my contacts case so that I could remove them and get some fucking beauty sleep or something, I did what any sane person would do. I went through all the pockets of my dirty jeans, I pulled everything out of my closet, I even checked the little hidey-holes in which I hide the condoms I've had for a year and a half but never used (huzzah monogamy and birth control pills). I looked in the stupidest places I could think of, to no avail!
"Oh noes!" I cried. "I'm going to be forced to learn another valuable lesson about losing shit! I can't stand another criterion by which I should search for shit!"
Grumpy and defeated, I plopped down at my computer chair (where I sit now) and scowled at my computer desk. I poked at the smattering of objects on the surface, just to see if they were trying to be clever and managing to conceal anything from me. Angry because my usual system of putting the case inside my glasses case had failed, I seized the glasses case and shook it for being such a failure in life.
The bitch rattled, and not because my glasses were inside. They were perched, innocently, atop my computer screen, patiently waiting for me to praise them for not being the thing I was so desperately looking for.
The glasses case rattled, and I groaned to myself as I opened it. Surely, surely, I had shaken it at the beginning of this trial, surely it had been one of the places I'd checked before moving on to the stupidest places in my room. But now. I opened the case, and there they were - the object of my desire, sitting smugly in the gentle curves of the case, with an expression that made me want to throw them against the wall.
Feeling very, very, very, very, very stupid, I took my contacts out, slid my glasses on, and putzed around on the internet some more before going to bed and laying awake for hours to watch the storm that was passing overhead.
Not really. But I do have a rant, which is sometimes more entertaining.
People lose shit all the time. It's human nature or something to completely fucking forget where you put that vitally important object, like your keys, or your textbook, or your fucking contacts case. And it seems such things always inevitably wind up in some incongruous place, often called "The last place you look." Forget for the moment the pure and simple fact that, once the item is found, one logicallys stops looking for it, making the item's resting place naturally "The last place you have looked." In my experience, this "last place" is also often someplace that you actually thought up with the item in hand, saying to yourself, "I'm going to put this here, so that I'll remember where I put it. Nesting my textbook among my clean dishes in the dishwasher is genious!"
Now, if there's one thing that I've learned from my boyfriend (we'll set aside the obvious one that I'm sexy, because he sees fit to remind me and assure me of this multiple times each day, as if my sense of my personal sexiness could ever truly be lost) it's that it's not "the last place you look" which will yield the lost item of your search. It is, rather "The Stupid Place." Why were my keys behind the tv? Why were my shoes on the top shelf of the closet? Why was my chapstick in the sock drawer? HOW did my mother's birthday present end up on the back of the toilet?
I don't know the answer to any of those questions. I know only that the items were found in really stupid fucking places, and that I'm glad I checked there, even if I had to be mad with desperation at the time to actually do so.
I've learned this Stupid Place lesson well. I lose things a lot. It's a gift I have, it seems. So last night, when I got home from work and cast about for the location of my contacts case so that I could remove them and get some fucking beauty sleep or something, I did what any sane person would do. I went through all the pockets of my dirty jeans, I pulled everything out of my closet, I even checked the little hidey-holes in which I hide the condoms I've had for a year and a half but never used (huzzah monogamy and birth control pills). I looked in the stupidest places I could think of, to no avail!
"Oh noes!" I cried. "I'm going to be forced to learn another valuable lesson about losing shit! I can't stand another criterion by which I should search for shit!"
Grumpy and defeated, I plopped down at my computer chair (where I sit now) and scowled at my computer desk. I poked at the smattering of objects on the surface, just to see if they were trying to be clever and managing to conceal anything from me. Angry because my usual system of putting the case inside my glasses case had failed, I seized the glasses case and shook it for being such a failure in life.
The bitch rattled, and not because my glasses were inside. They were perched, innocently, atop my computer screen, patiently waiting for me to praise them for not being the thing I was so desperately looking for.
The glasses case rattled, and I groaned to myself as I opened it. Surely, surely, I had shaken it at the beginning of this trial, surely it had been one of the places I'd checked before moving on to the stupidest places in my room. But now. I opened the case, and there they were - the object of my desire, sitting smugly in the gentle curves of the case, with an expression that made me want to throw them against the wall.
Feeling very, very, very, very, very stupid, I took my contacts out, slid my glasses on, and putzed around on the internet some more before going to bed and laying awake for hours to watch the storm that was passing overhead.
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particularly on mornings when I've slept in/running late/in a general foul mood.
could be worse. at least you found them...