I am always losing things. Sometimes they are just misplaced; other times they are out and out gone. Sometimes they are just a favourite pen, a comfortable sweater, other times, the terrible times, they are important: a passport, or another government document or worse, your grandmother's pearl ring. Like any repetitive behaviour there is a definite pattern associated with these crazy-making times: noticing the loss, thinking about it, looking, brooding, looking some more, deciding you are a moron, focused looking, retracing your steps mentally and physically, giving up, more looking. If ever I wonder about my mental health, these are the times: the waste of time, my apparent inability to learn anything from the last time this happened, did I mention the waste of time....
This past one was a doozy! I "misplaced" my lottery ticket to the sixty million dollar draw this weekend. It didn't matter that I would have an easier time winning the Nobel Prize for Literature while simultaneously winning a gold medal for Canada in the Artistic Gymnastics category than actually winning the grand prize; lost it was and look I must. Unfortunately this incident fell squarely on a week when sleep eluded me as well. There are some things more humiliating than wandering around your house in the dead of night casting the beam of a rechargeable flashlight everywhere you can think of, but I am not sure what they are right now. Let's just say that I am too tired to think about it because of the aforementioned moonlight rendezvous with stupidity. The only satisfaction I got was hearing that no one actually won this week's first prize which means that I still have a week to lose this week's ticket too!
