I'm a loser

It's true. I am. Big time. I am a big loser. It's out there now and whoever you are reading this, you finally know the truth. I lose everything, including sports, but that's not the kind of loser I'm talking about today. I suffer from severe misplacement. It's generally the usual subjects that go missing: keys, phone, USB sticks and purse. Other times it's other things like the cat, a sweater that I donated a million years ago and finally decided I want to wear, and my mind with all of the wonderful ideas inside (sometimes these ideas are lost too, and lame, juvenile ones are left in their places. I'm a magician of sorts!).

My go-to move when things go missing is obviously to call Boyfriend and point the finger at him verbally. We all know if I know it's not my fault, it's his. If something is missing, he moved it. This became the go-to move a long time ago when I started finding weird things in my closet. Boyfriend is one tidy man, and if I leave something out of place with my sloppiness, he puts it in my closet so it's out of the way. Fondue pots stacked on top of lap tops on top of purses on top of coats on top of the cat on top of a book I'm reading on top of who knows what else. In theory, my go-to should be to check the closet first, but I'm set in my ways, so this is generally the phone call that is made:

Hi. What's going on?
I've lost my _______. Where did you put it?
Where did you have it last?
I don't know. Where did you put it?
Maybe you should have put it where it's supposed to go and you could find it now when you need it.
Is it in my closet?
I don't know.
Like actually don't know, or don't care to tell me?
I don't know. You'll find it.

This is the part where I angrily sigh, tell him I gotta go, then proceed to rip the apartment apart to find what I'm looking for. This doesn't help me for two reasons: 1) Now the apartment is a mess 2) If I leave it a mess, I'm sure to find all of it jammed into my closet later. How will I get to my coats with couch cushions and a coffee table in my way? Le crap. In my defense, I saw a story on the news awhile back about so-called messy people. Like Hoarders messy. They were asked to find something in their heaps of stuff and they could do it in seconds. It might have been a super mess, but it was an organized super mess. Or wait. Was it the news or was it a funky dream? Either way, we shall state it as fact.

The usual missing objects are usually on hand but I don't realize it. It's the pockets in everything. They confuse me and I forget where I stash my keys or phone. Pockets, though practical, are bad. Another time I found a USB stick stuck behind a drawer in my jewelry box. (Yes I have a jewelry box. It's from my Granny! The fact that it only has junk jewelry is a non-issue.) I don't know how it ended up there, but if we were playing hide-and-seek, it would have won like a year ago. And when the cat's missing, she'll just bellow until we find her.

The thing is, it drives me crazy to lose stuff, and yet I can't stop it from happening. I think it's getting worse actually. So what does one do to make oneself feel better about oneself? That's right. Level the playing field. Sometimes I "misplace" Boyfriend's things just to let him know what it's like to be on the other end. It sucks to be the loser. Though, sometimes I forget where I hide things, so it's kind of a dangerous game. See Boyfriend, there's always a logical reason for everything I do. This explains my affinity for hiding things. I swear, sometimes you think I'm right out of my tree.

I wonder though, how much worse this problem will get as I age. I already know crazy's comin' for me at some point. It looks like the happy kind of crazy so I'm cool with that...but what happens when I misplace my medication? Not the boring ones like the stuff that keeps you regular or puts you to sleep, but the important ones that at least level you off so you can kind of stay on your rocker. Best you can hope for Boyfriend is to either die first or get put in a different home. A secret one, because I'm sure future ol' lady, crazy me will find you and haunt you asking you to find things for her...wait. Is that much different than we are right now? Dang, forgot I was making oatmeal. One second please.

The question remains though: How does one stop being a loser? I think it's impossible. I'm also in that club of people that has to stop talking on their cell phone so they can find their missing cell phone. Maybe there's no hope. Maybe crazy will catch me sooner rather than later and I can give up the right to have to care about this trivial stuff because somebody will take care of it for me. Yes. That's the plan. I'm Boyfriend's problem now, but those of you going into the mental health profession, this is your warning.

Now that I'm full of oatmeal, time for tea,

K