Losin’ It

So, it’s official. I’ve lost my mind.

It’s been a pretty stressful couple of weeks around here, and things are about to get pretty hectic, so my mind has been in many places at once. It also happens to be a time when every event that we’ve been saving up to see is now occurring. Over the past week, there were tickets to Warhol, tickets to two comedy shows, tickets to a theatrical show and tickets to a concert all getting delivered to the house.

Also I should note that I smacked my forehead. Twice. In twelve hours. The first time I was carrying glasses into the kitchen. My hands were full so I didn’t turn on the light. I leaned forward too far placing them on the counter and hit my head on the corner of the cabinet. Just smacked right into it, right at the top of my forehead. Man, did that hurt. No bruise, just intense pain.

Then in the shower the next morning I dropped my razor. I spun around too quickly to retrieve it and smacked my forehead on the corner of the shower door, right in the same place. I’m sure even Little Drummer Boy next door heard my wailing, sounding like Sissy Spacek at the beginning of Carrie.

Now I’ve got a very faint bruise, but my head is killing me. Keep that in mind, okay?

This morning I couldn’t find the tickets to the show on Sunday. About two days ago I started wondering where I put them. It was unlike me to not put them in an obvious place, so I put it out of my mind until today. I woke up this morning determined to find the tickets.

I went through my purse, finding the tickets to the show next week, but not the show for this week. In the office were the two sets of tickets for the comedy shows. I found the tickets for Warhol, but that was last week.

I tried retracing my steps. I bought the tickets for this week and next on the same day. They arrived on Friday afternoon. I thought I had put them in my purse, but only one set of tickets was there.

I thought perhaps I had put them on the refrigerator, as that’s where the calendar marking the show is kept. Nothing. Then I worried that they might have fallen off the fridge due to weak magnets. We moved the refrigerator and lit a flashlight under the stove. Except for finding large dust bunnies that could easily take down one of our cats, we found nothing.

I started assuming that he’d lost the tickets, not me. I must have given them to him and he put them somewhere. He went through everything. He went through everything again. Nothing.

I checked my purse again. I checked all my purses. I checked my office, every folder, every journal. I checked boxes I hadn’t opened in three months. I found the gift certificate from Christmas that I’d lost. I checked my purse again.

I searched the trash, the recycling, the downstairs trash and then the recycling again. I flipped through every magazine that had come in the mail over the past week. I did it again. I checked my purse again.

I checked my dayplanner, the notebook I use for the book, the notebook I use for the screenplay I’m working on, the notebook I’m using for the play I’m directing, and the box of scripts for the play. I checked the envelope that I knew only held headshots and resumes. I checked my purse again.

I looked under couches, beds, dressers, nightstands, tv stands, televisions, computers, microwaves, toasters, lamps, photographs, cats, clothes, boxes, shoes and my purse.

“Are you sure the tickets arrived?” he asked.

“What kind of question is that?” I fumed. “Of course they arrived. They were right here with the rest of the mail. They had to have come on Friday because they shipped on Tuesday with the other tickets that I’m holding in this hand right here.”

I didn’t want to call Ticketmaster and lie, saying I didn’t have the tickets. I couldn’t believe I had lost them. It was so unlike me, but things had been pretty crazy. I vividly remember opening the envelope, taking the tickets out of the envelope, reading the tickets, noting our seats, commenting on how the tickets didn’t mention everyone playing at the concert, and then… a fuzzy void. Did I put them on the fridge? That makes sense. Did I give them to him? That makes even more sense. Did I put them with the other tickets? That makes the most sense of all.

I checked my purse.

I tried doing other things, like working, checking email, etc. But my mind kept wandering back to those four little tickets that held my Sunday night inside of them. I was going to let three people down if I’d lost them, and it was going to cost so much money to replace them, if we even could.

I snapped at him that he wasn’t helping enough. We both searched the entire house again. Nothing. Nowhere. Four tickets vanished. I walked in circles, checking the same places, wondering aloud how I could have done something so stupid. I don’t lose things, not for more than three minutes, except for the gift certificate, but I really lost that in the move.

I ate lunch, and lamented that much of my day had already passed. All I had done was tear apart my house.

I went downstairs and forced myself back to work. I had a rehearsal in a few hours and couldn’t afford to spend any more time looking. I’d have to start up again tomorrow.

“Clunk!” The sound of our mail arriving. I looked up. I looked at him. I ran up the stairs. He followed.

“Holy shit.”

I threw the envelope onto the floor. He picked it up and opened it, fanning the four tickets out in front of me.

[scripty]
HIM
They weren’t here yet.

ME
Holy shit.

I put them back down on the floor. I looked over them. There they were, exactly as I had remembered them. The face was exactly the same.

HIM
So, you’ve officially lost your mind, right?

ME
I guess so.

I held my face.

HIM
You did hit your head pretty hard.ME
Twice.

HIM
Poor you.

ME
Or maybe… now I’m psychic!

HIM
I’m going back to work.

ME
Maybe I knew you were going to say that!

[/scripty]

The tickets are on the fridge now, right where I knew they were on Friday before they arrived, back when they didn’t exist.

Just another milestone on the short and twisted road to becoming my mother.

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