It's a short trip

I am the person in my house that always finds things, a fact that can be very frustrating. Steve will look for something for half an hour and I'll finally get up to help him and find it in the same place he looked, in five minutes.

I've come to the conclusion that the ability to locate items depends on how your brain functions. If you are a person who can follow and apply logic easily; you can find lost items. In essence, all you are doing is trying to figure out where, and how, it might have eneded up at different places.

But long before Steve was in my life, I was still the person that found lost things. In my parents home, the home of my last marriage, and now in this one.

So when I am unable to find something, it drives me a little crazy. Well, okay, it drives me a LOT crazy. At 9:00 this evening, I sit aside a book I was reading to prepare Will for bed. At 9:20 I went to get the book and it was gone. Sometimes, I will automatically run through steps that are repeated every night. Without thought, I'll put my drink in next to the computer, the book I'm reading in the spare room, lock the back door.

So I checked where I normally put my books. It wasn't there. I checked the computer room incase I sit it in there with my drink. It wasn't there. I spent the next 40 minutes looking in every room in my house for this book. I even turned the light on in the bedroom where Steve was sleeping, dug through the laundry in the laundry room, and turned on the light in Will's room to peak in there.

Each unsucessful search cranked up my anxiety further and further, way out of porportion for the situation. Really, whats the worse that can happen? I'd buy a new copy of the book tomorrow and finish it.

I finally realized it wasn't the "book" that I was freaking out about, it was my inability to find it. It was driving me crazy. And as Steve would tell you, for me, it's a short trip.

(Yeah, I finally found the book.)