As a kid, I spent a lot of years in constant motion between my divorced parents’ houses. I was never particularly good at keeping track of belongings — maybe because I had twice as many places any single object could be? — and for whatever reason, a recurring bad-dream theme was losing small, personal things. A watch. My contact lenses. A bracelet. None of them particularly important or irreplaceable, but knowing that it was something I’d handled just days earlier and now couldn’t find bothered the crap out of me.
When I go on big cleaning rampages, I frequently re-organize things and in so doing, mess up my mental picture of where things are. For the last week, I haven’t been able to put my hands on my ProTools install CD. Haven’t really needed it, but couldn’t find it. Knew that I’d handled it recently. Knew that it and the serial number on the back of it was worth money. Knew it was very likely within six feet of my desk, but I Just. Couldn’t. Find. It.
Just found it. Whew.
Now if I could just find my damn bluetooth earpiece.