"we can send a car to find you"

This is one of those things that probably isn't true, but feels true.  And maybe I even know why it feels true.

 

histrionic short take:  (side note: glad that histrionic is suitably genderfree but still also self-castigating).  I'm an idiot who shouldn't be allowed to have nice things. 

actual story:  My computer died.  Not really dead, just mostly dead.  Microcenter took it away and unexpectedly, has already returned it.  Many things were wrong, all of them fixed now.  Except for the part where I put the power cord somewhere obvious and safe for the time when the computer came back.   What, might one ask, was this obvious and safe place?  Good fucking question.
 

I think this might have been the first thing that I've really lost in this house.  I've been unable to find things, sometimes for entire days, and maybe this is also just a thing I've misplaced.  But I don't lose things often, so each time I do, it feels like a catastrophe, proof of my worthlessness and my stupidity.  (see also any time I've lost wallet, keys or phone.  And it feels like it's been a while since I've any of those, but I still remember how shitty I felt when I lost my wallet at S&S or when I discovered I didn't have my keys anymore in the park street station even longer ago than that and those both happened at least a decade ago).  And there's not even that many places in this house to look, we haven't even lived here long enough to accumulate that many pockets of cruft.  So I tear around the house, looking in the same place more than once, leaving chaos in my wake, still not finding it.  

Okay, so the power cord's lost.  Eventually I'll admit that and purchase an off market one.  Or decide I don't deserve computers.  One or the other.   

Next step: Today's the day I decide to try my hand at mask making.  I already remembered that we didn't bring iron or ironing board with us when we moved, because I  wasn't thinking craft, I was only thinking clothing and that's what we have a steamer for, but I figure I can soldier through the lack and just have uglier pleats/ties for the lack of pressing. 

I go through the house and manage to find
 

my self healing mat and large clear ruler (in the basement on top of a shelf where I can't see it), 

my sewing machine (in the basement, in a different place) 

the treadle for the sewing machine (in my crafting stuff in my room) 

the rotary cutter (in the box of crafting things in the attic, tucked in with the last quilting project), 

pins (in my sewing tackle box on the shelf in the closet in my and light's room)  

and fabric.   (oh for the impossible day when we sell the somerville house and we maybe renovate the attic and make me a craft room)

 

I assemble all these things in my room, haul out a table I think will work for this attempt and realize that despite having been able to find all of these things, I cannot find thread for love or money.  Mind you, this was a task during which I got crankier and crankier, despite eventually being able to find everything and in fairly short order, during which I have broken two nails, dropped something on my foot and had something crash into my shin when I didn't balance it correctly and left even more chaos in my wake.

 

it's possible I would be able to find either thread or my charger if I could just calm the fuck down, but it seems like that's pretty unlikely at this point.  I've already had one doctor's call, I have another this afternoon, then therapy, and then a volunteer meeting for the network.   

 

This shouldn't be a stressful day, I'm not leaving the house, I might not even cook dinner, but fuck do I want to break something.   And I know that part of why I don't deal well with losing things is because I don't do it often, at least not material things, hyper-vigilance as a child made me worry enough about knowing where things were that considerable brainspace is devoted to know where just about everything is.  Ask Light, it's been cited as proof I'm a witch.   

 

And I probably only remember the things that really freak me out.  If it's a little thing, I probably just replace it or do without and the world goes on turning and I don't even bother committing it to memory, so the only times I do remember at the ones where I escalate the negative self-talk past a certain threshold.  And once I'm up in my feels, my memory gets worse and more scattered.  And I get clumsier, and I stop remembering to move mostly slowly and I become inefficient, which doesn't make anything better.

 

But i'd really like to know where my charger and thread are right the fuck now.