I lost my phone. Running through the rain to the car with Jack in tow and ex-boy giggling and prancing in front of me and the worst storm I’ve ever seen since moving to California, my phone must have escaped out of my bag. The same bag that is ripping down the side, not the only scar left from biology books. It didn’t really phase me over the weekend. No one calls me (except for a frantic mother who thinks I was swallowed up in the typhoon and spat out on a mountain in Georgia where I was kidnapped and killed and they found me b/c Jack was wandering around the parking lot where my bloody clothes were dumped) and I wanted the phone for the pretty pretty green, but the pretty pretty green never fit in my hand so well and was scratched up in no time. My only real loss is the awesome flower wall paper that was made from sushi rolls. Now I have to go order another sushi flower to get that wall paper.
But I call and call my missing phone, and it’s not dead, no one is making calls from it, and no one is calling any of my contacts to ask whose phone it is or answering my calls. So that means it is someplace safe, not dead from sitting in a puddle and not in anyone else’s hands. So where is it? For some reason I keep checking the refrigerator and expect to find it. I’ve checked inside shoes, coat pockets, jean pockets, the undies bin, the laundry basket. I’ve reshuffled my bed, the drawers in my bed, the other bedroom, the bookshelf, bags I haven’t used in months, drawers in the kitchen, behind the cranberry sauce, all around my cube at work. And I can convince myself that the last thing I did before I left that morning is take a swig from the orange juice container and so it must be there, right?
And topped off with dreams of having my beautiful 2 front teeth knocked out in a plane crash (I love my teeth. I wouldn’t still sleep in a retainer if I didn’t love my teeth.) and there being snakes in my bed (and it makes me so anxious) and going to a pool party in a bikini in front of <gasp> boys…. I can’t help but feel I’m going a little crazy. Because I keep going back to make sure the phone isn’t in the fridge. It isn’t. So I grab a piece of that almond chocolate toffee every time I walk back to the living room and boudais.
But maybe I lost it the same night I got the mysterious bruise on my thigh and I’m living a much more exciting life than I think. Or maybe I just rammed the side of the bed trying to kick a snake out of my bed in my sleep.