Where Did I Put That . . .?

The wife just left for East Texas until Monday. So I've got some time on my hands. The subject that I choose to discuss is one I think many of you can relate to.

I lose stuff. I find myself in closets wondering what the Sam Hill I'm in there for. No, it's not an age issue. It's a me issue. I've been like this as long as I can remember.As I've mentioned in other blogs, my mind never rests. I'm constantly planning, imagining, creating, etc. So when it comes to actual life situations, what I do is often affected by the fact that I don't keep the same thing in my head for an extended period of time.

This morning, I get my Coke Zero out of the fridge, open it, take a drink, and set it down. When I want another drink. . .Where the heck did I put that? I promptly blow it off, assuming it was abducted by an overweight alien. Fifteen minutes later I find it on a nightstand. Lukewarm. Blah.

Yesterday I went to take my meds (can you tell I need them?) and they are not in the medicine cabinet. So now we have an overweight alien with anxiety issues. I hope he's not armed. I looked for that bottle for an hour. When I finally decided they were just lost, I went out to the truck, and the pills were in the driver's seat. Large bottle - definitely not pocket size. Did I take them for a walk so they could get fresh air? Were they attempting to escape in my truck, but found they had no keys?

Speaking of keys, this one drives my spouse insane. We have a place to hang keys right by the front door. She uses it. I throw mine down somewhere. . .anywhere. One day I really lost them. Those babies were GONE.So now we have an overweight, anxious alien that wants to take a spin in my truck!? Hours after I had given up, I'm sitting in my recliner when it hit me. The last time I saw my keys, they were in my windbreaker, and the last place I was with said windbreaker on my person, was sittine on the porcelain throne reading a two year old Reader's Digest. I jumped out of my recliner, ran into the throne room, and stuck my hand down into the tunnel of departure, and I feel something you're not supposed to feel in there. It was my keys, and the only reason they didn't flush was of the large, round, leather Texas A&M logo disk thingie attached to the key ring. Two millimeters of leather saved my neck. Where are my keys as I write this? I check my pocket, and lo and behold, I find them. But mind you, I had to look.

Back in my partying days, there used to be a rock and roll bar in Austin called Mother Earth. My buddy and I were broke, as usual, but managed to scrape up enough to go. We walked up to the bar, and I look on the floor and see a wad of cash. I leaned over and whispered to Ray,"Hey, I have my foot on top of some money I just spotted. Reach down and when I move my foot, pick it up." Ray, being of the same desperate outlaw type as myself, quickly obliged. Twenty three dollars. Man, we were gonna party like crazy and not spend a penny! Now it never occured to me until the next morning that that was the exact amount we had scraped up, and that it had fallen out of my pocket when I had reached in for a couple of bucks. The next morning, hung over and penniless, I figured it out.

Cell phones. A couple of years ago I lost one, and I STILL have no idea where it went. Do you have any idea how many times I've called myself from another phone so I could hear mine ringing? If I kept track, I'm sure I would have forgotten by now.

Now, what was I talking about?