Skip to main content

Losing it.

Besides the obvious and infuriating irony of the situation, I think part of why losing my wallet upset me as much as it did was due to my long, frustrating habit of losing things. Usually at bad times. Or so my brain tells me.

It probably comes as no surprise that I'm a bit absent-minded, harebrained even. A nutty professor type (crossed with strains of Hunter S. Thompson and Joan Didion, or so I console myself). That I lose things--lots--is just part of my shtick. But it's really fucking annoying most of the time.

Recently I've lost three-ish things that were of moderate to significant importance to me,

  1. the aforeblogged wallet
  2. my housekeys (which also had a copy of my bike key and the little scanny thing for the gym)
  3. my bike light (that thing was badass).

Sigh. It's just frustrating. And sucky. And it keeps happening. I wonder if it's a problem of personal organization? Or stuff? Probably. But that would prolly require some organization on my part to get myself organized into re-organizing things better. That's too much effort.

I could blame it on not having my own (contiguous) space. Like, the opposite phenomenon--the stalagmite of clothes that accumulates on my desk chair every week--happens for that reason: I head for bed and take off my pants and shirt and stuff and fall into bed/sleep. If my actual changing area weren't some 40ft away, behind a door, around a corner, maybe this stuff would end up somewhere at least half sensible? Hm.

Anyway, thought I'd gripe randomly about this some more. I've found the more I blog, the more traffic I get. I like getting traffic because it makes me feel loved. I like feeling loved.

Anyways, have a great weekend, everyone!

Comments

Other things that might interest you...

This moment: A tattoo.

So I read Mrs. Dalloway in high school, and it was perhaps the most beautiful thing I'd ever read. One passage in particular, very early in the book, hit me hard with my first experience of the sublime, and stayed with me—and led at last to my first tattoo.
In people’s eyes, in the swing, tramp, and trudge; in the bellow and the uproar; the carriages, motor cars, omnibuses, vans, sandwich men shuffling and swinging; brass bands; barrel organs; in the triumph and the jingle and the strange high singing of some aeroplane overhead was what she loved; life; London; this moment of June.  (Emphasis added; full paragraph included below. From the full text of the novel as made available by the University of Adelaide.)

The paragraph this is from, the 4th paragraph of the novel, is the 1st passage with the stream of consciousness the book is famous for; although self-limited here, the flow is no less gorgeous. In the passage, Clarissa is walking on a street to get those famous flowers herse…

QP: Changes to come, I hope.

My grandmother passed away about 2 weeks ago. I hope to write about her more soon, but for this moment, I want to speak briefly about where I'm at overall: Her passing has led me to reevaluate aspects of my life because I'm realizing that the status quo amounts to just wasting my life away.

(This is another "quick post," which means it's a short update that I likely didn't edit and revise quite as much as the more "thoughtful" pieces I aim for. I say this because I'm self-conscious and worry that you, my reader, will judge me!)

I'm up in Boston and have today and tomorrow off, and I want to spend at least a portion of each day figuring out (some of) my life. I say this fully aware how often I've variously done so before: asserted a need for change, described how I was going to do it, made an attempt, then fallen off in the follow-through. I'm honestly not sure what to do about that, though. It frustrates me now just as much as ever, e…

A Valentine's Special.

Yeah, I'm one of those guys who's never really been with someone around Valentine's. I am sometimes baffled how other people manage these things--and why I can't. To be fair, it's probably as much my not trying enough and trying too hard as it is anything pariticularly wrong with me. Like, I know I don't get myself out there enough to meet guys and when I do it's probably compensatory and usually flawed from the start.

The other question is--why does it matter so much to me? Evidently it seems like something I want but something I'm scared of, too. It may also be something I'm just not very good at. I'm secretly timid and fearful of most confrontation and directness. For all my communication skills, I always seem to chicken out when it comes to talking to guys in a healthy, sustaining way. I'm a dreamer who wants something nice badly enough to stick to something for the concept of having it more than the reality of dealing with it; I want to…