July 26, 2007

• Losing things is a terrible experience.  And not only is it a terrible experience, but it is terrible that it is a terrible experience, because of how frequently it happens to me. 

  Of course, I say “happens to me” as though losing things was much a thing like the weather.  In reality losing things is, in my case, self-caused nine times out of ten.  Predominantly the item I misplace is my wristwatch, which is an item that is definitely convenient to take off at times (like when typing) and conversely extremely convenient to have on at times (like when running). 

  Apart from being deprived of the uses of the lost item, searching for things proves to be a tantalizing process filled with spurts of false hopes and eager thoughts prodding me to certain locations (“Ah, yes! That must be where it is!”)  It often feels like I’m being thwarted by an inanimate object.  When especially in need of whatever I’m lookng for, I imagine everything in the house, furniture and all, as having planned the disappearance deliberately to amuse themselves at my frantic search.  The item, I can envision, is dangled from the ceiling behind my head as I rummage through a bookshelf, and all my family members are replaced by hallograms who are programmed to only say, “No, I haven’t seen it.” 

  Perhaps an even worse thought than accusing my own house of being alive and practicing such facetious devilry is realizing the truth: I moved it and forgot where I put it.  My own inept memory, along with my inability to conscientiously monitor where I place things, is the cause of my current predicament.  During the search I might mutter things like, “Where did I put it?!” “What’s wrong with me?!” “I had it right here last time!”  Now as you’ll notice, the “I” referred to in those quotes most nearly refers to the actions of myself on another day.  Asking where I put my keys is, in other words, like asking the Philip from the day that misplaced the keys where he put them.  Thus, if the me from each day was extracted from my life timeline so there was Monday Philip, Tuesday Philip, and so on, I am sure quite a brawl would immediately ensue if I was put into a room with all of my other me’s. 

  Thursday Philip:  HEY TUESDAY, YOU DOLT!
  Tuesday Philip:  Who, me?
  Thursday:  YES, YOU! WHAT DID YOU DO WITH MY DRIVER’S LICENSE?! 
  Tuesday:  Dude, chill, not even my fault.  I had it in the car, someone else must have moved it.
  Thursday:  Hooey!  You were driving, no one would move it but you!
  Tuesday: Yeah, well at least I shaved, look at you!
  Wednesday Philip:  Um, actually, Tuesday, it was probably you, man.  You lost my shoes too, remember?
  Tuesday:  I did?
  Wednesday:  Yeah, you put them in the garage, which is a mess.  Took me 15 minutes to find them.
  Tuesday:  Oh, sorry.  Well, if Monday Philip would have just gone to bed when he was supposed to! 

  Getting along and learning to have patience with my own clumsy mind is as much training for spousal interaction as I could possiby need.  If my wife ever loses something all I will need to do is remember that the situation is no different than if I were living on my own having to tolerate my own thoughtless fumbles.  And if needed as a last resort, I can remind myself that the downfalls of another mind or my own is far more desirable than owning an animated house that habitually conspires with itself to hide my things.

  While scurrying about looking for a lost item I sometimes freeze suddenly to ponder the predicament from an omnicsient third person view.  Considering an omniscient view from inside the situation is frustrating.  I can picture somewhere, in some stable, stationary place, the object I so earnestly seek. There it rests quietly; unstirred, undisturbed, and outside my knowledge.  Meanwhile I am someplace else, utterly bewildered, racking my mind to try and think where the item could possibly be. 

  From a bird’s eye view, the situation is downright comical.  If the item I’ve lost isn’t too important, I’ll laugh at the picture of me looking thoroughly in hysterically wrong places for something my finite mind has misplaced.  There scuttles the litte human, despairingly, wandering his own miniature premises to and fro, confounded by his own inattentive mind!  His past self has unkowingly hid something he now needs, and he determinedly battles against being undone by his own self as he galumphs around looking everywhere he can for it. And yet the item is where it is, and he might find it, if not for his own forgetful nature blocking the way.

  • 2:10 am
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