Losing Things....BLOGMAS DAY 15,16&17

In case you were expecting a deep talk about life and loss and other dwell-ups, well that's too bad, 'cause I'm just gonna vent a bit for my own satisfaction.

On Thursday, the "Don't-Ask-Day", something very important to me simply fell out of my lap when I got up to change trains because the one I was sitting in didn't leave. I spent hours riding all over town searching for the particular wagon that I dropped it in, running up platforms in heels, sweating in my polyester sweater that kept riding up my thighs, asking people for directions with a haunted look in my eyes and wild hair all over the place. Then I went to work red-eyed and kept refreshing the page and hoping some sort of nice person who doesn't usually steal things they find on the floor uses one of the possibilities to return found items, and that's what I'm doing still. Also, I solemny swear I'm never gonna ignore something that looks meaningful on the street, or the train floor, no matter how dirty that might be. Cross your fingers for me that I get my thing back. Thanks.

On Saturday, I slept in, went to Ballet class, soaked up the calm there, went shopping for food, walked to the bus stop and boom, almost had a heart attack when I couldn't feel my keys in my pocket. Haha, I thought, I'm so jumpy, of course I have my keys.

Okay, I don't have my keys. Cue the controlled panic.

So I drove to my building, I scooched down in front of the doorstep to search the floor, an old lady walking by thought I was a teenage runaway stealing her parent's cash, and I didn't find my keys. I called the studio, and the guy who was working the counter that morning (who's kind of cute. No magic moment, but it's always nicer to talk to cute guys than to, well, non-cute ones. Gosh, I'm on top of my shallow game right here) asked me to leave a call-back number, so I said "you got something to write" but in German, it seems that it could be mistaken as me asking for his number, which I certainly didn't intend, and he politely declined but promised to call if he found something. Then I drove there myself, to check all three lockers that could be, maybe, possibly have been mine. Nothing. I bid the counter guy goodbye with a bitterness the poor boy didn't deserve and went to the supermarket (all the while carrying my frozen lunch with me in my handbag, I should add), harassing all four check-out ladies only to leave, defeated almost to the point of calling my mom in hysterics. But alas, I chose to wait until every last chance of me not having to sleep on the street (sound familiar?) was thoroughly examined, so I went back to my place, ringing every doorbell, and that is where two middle-aged men approached me. "They don't let you in?", they asked, lighting up a smoke. "Oh, do you live here?" "We're visitors. You too?" "Oh, no I live here. But I can't get in. Will you let me in?" I was babbling on in a very questionable, teenage runaway fahsion, when the door threw open and another man, the host of the smokers, stood there in a dressing gown with a cigar in his mouth, and I snuck right into the staircase before anyone could stop me. The dressing gown man even introduced himself, but I forgot his name, so he shall be referred to as the Dressing Gown Man. They were all very nice and full of sympathy when I told them my story while I climbed up the stairs to my door. And there, thank goodness gracious, was a post-it saying that the neighbours across the hall had my keys with them and would be back shortly. I think I praised the Lord loudly upon this. Then I scribbled a thank you note and stuck it onto their door, and then I went to the bus stop and had a little cry of relief and strained nerves. Then I thought of the thing I lost Thursday and cried some more. I have given up on all inhibitions regarding public display of distress (PDD- is that a thing?), I guess we have established that by now.

And finally, today, I got all dressed for bellydance class (I'm on a roll- fourth day of dancing in a row. Sorry, I just had to get that out there to be remembered forever) and packed my purse, when I suddenly didn't see my membership card anywhere. By now I couldn't muster up any careful thoughs on where it might be, I just turned the bag upside down and oh my, I realize that the scatter of trash and a fun mix of various belongings are still lying in front of my door and I have to clean it up. Anyways, I didn't find it, and they gave me a new card, and I wondered if there is some sort of weird planet alignment at the moment because these coincidents are weirding me out by now. Then I went home and found my original card had slipped into my business card case. Yes, I do have a business card, I just never give it to people. I thought everyone did it this way.

I'm gonna hold on to all of my things very tightly this week. And then I'm off home for Christmas, to a place where other people have keys to my place and I don't have to take the train anywhere. 

Love,

Rosy Smith