More and more I hate breaks from my routine because I just lose track of shit. Last night, for example, I realized that I don't have my house keys in my pocket. I kind of freaked out that it may be in my rental, until I realized I used those keys to open the front door after coming back from our roadtrip, so it has to be somewhere.
I also realized that the windbreaker vest Father gave me is nowhere to be seen. Out of the blue, during the trip, he gave me it to wear, saying I would be cold. I wasn't, of course, but I wore it, and he gave me the goddamn thing. I didn't want it and I didn't need it, and so I didn't realize until this morning that I don't know where it is. I'm sure I didn't leave it in the hotel in Chicago -- that I wore it instead, and once the sun came out I took it off and threw it in the driver's seat. Or maybe I didn't.
See, he always does this. This guy is militant about clutter, and yet he gives me clothes I don't need -- clutter. I'm now responsible for something I have no time to be responsible for, so of course I lose it. And now I feel guilty about losing a vest that, while is nothing I need nor want, was still a pretty good vest.
So, what now? Maybe the vest is gone, but I need to find those fucking keys, I have my life in them.
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