Where had it gone? Where could I have transported it to?
More needless trivia from my life.
The most ludricous part was that we found them lying on the floor next to the door to the office. For ten days, we’d tramped back and forth, overturning furniture, unpiling and repiling books, meticulously looking through the contents of garbage cans. And they turned up in plain sight, like a black chrysanthemum crushed on the floor.
You lose your keys and you lose your life. In my case this meant a few discount clubs, the keys to my truck, my house, my mailbox, and my locker at the gym. I kept forcing myself to think of places where they might have been dropped. I went to restaurants, grocery stores, and bookstores searching for my lost jingles. My OCD flared up as I repeatedly shook out the pockets of my coat, checked the hook where I hung them. What had become of them? How could them disappear so seamlessly from the face of the planet?
“They’ll turn up in a place that you hadn’t thought to look before,” I told myself. So they did.