Sunday, May 10, 2020

Now Where Did It Go?

Disputing a credit card bill for Mother.  This happened back in December.  She didn't know she needed to send a letter explaining the charges, so that's why the credit card company closed the case.  Now I have to reopen it.

In order to finish off the letter, I went downstairs to her office.  I then noticed something.  In the top shelf there are books and other ... stuff.  But I thought there was something else up there: A wooden replica of Riverfront Stadium, home of the Cincinnati Reds before it was torn down in 2002.  As is my hobby, I go to Major League Baseball stadia in its last season of use.  I went to the third-to-the-last and penultimate Games of the Reds there (I think the opponent was the San Diego Padres), and for that last Saturday Game I was given that replica.  I didn't open it or anything, just took it home with me intact.  And I have no idea how it got to Mother's office on the top shelf -- I didn't bring it down or anything, she sure as hell didn't ask for it -- but it was safe up there, so why bother?

Well, I should have bothered, because now it's gone.  I don't know where it is.  And I'm afraid to ask Mother (or, worse, Father) because they'll be flippant about it and say they threw it away, and that would just trigger me because I care for something that was just on the top shelf of Mother's office and they will act like they don't give a damn about something that has obvious sentimental value to me.

Just because I don't think about it 24/7 doesn't mean I don't care for it.  I care for it now; that's all that matters.  Goddammit.

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