At 5am this morning, I was up to my elbows in coffee grounds, junk mail, take out containers, and something resembling cookie dough but that I am pretty sure (allegedly) was cupcake batter. There was also some untoward greasiness. I might have been crying.
Oh, ok. I'll tell you.
At 4:30am I woke up and decided to brush my teeth. I noted that my throat was sore and my face kind of hurt. Huh. Since I was vertical, I decided I'd check email. I did. One thing led to another and it was 5am. I knew that the rate of speed then evident in my brain would not permit me to go back to sleep. I needed help with that project so I looked to the upper right quadrant of my desk for the small plastic baglet containing the two month supply of Xanax I bought two weeks ago.
I then remembered that I had cleaned off my desk that afternoon and had put the Xanax in the drug drawer. Cool.
Because it was Not. There.
So then I went through the drawers in my desk, thinking I might have stashed it there during my afternoon cleaning frenzy.
I went back into the bathroom and checked every drawer.
I started to cry just a little bit.
Then I recalled that number of times that I have thrown important things into the trash can during a frenzy of cleaning. I recalled the time I found my wallet in the freezer and the other time I found my passport in the yarn stash.
So I went down the hall the the trash compacter and pulled out the trash bag I had deposited there six hours earlier. I brought it back to my apartment, got out a new trash bag and proceeded to transfer the contents of trash bag one to trash bag two, all the while keeping an eye out for the precious baglet containing the controlled substance for which I can get no refills for sixty days and without which I am not likely to be able to sleep for at least one day a week. Oh and don't forget that there is no way in hell I can withstand a bout of father illness terror without the baglet.
So anyway I was gagging, crying, praying and cursing my way through the trash when I had another thought.
What was I wearing while I was cleaning out my desk?
Oh holy God no.
I ran to the elevator and hit down button C and entered the laundry room and tripped my way over to the washer containing the load of scudgy clothing I had washed at 11pm.*
I withdrew each item, carefully looking for any sign of the baglet.
There was no sign.
I started the dryer and returned to the trash. Cupcake batter? Absolutely. Half eaten swedish fish? Hell, yeah. Baglet?
It was then 6am. I was delirious and my throat hurt and I realized that it was now time to consider The Pile.
If you have one yourself, you know the despair that produces it and the heartbreak that accompanies the thought of it.
If you don't, we are not right for each other and anyway you are bad in bed. Go away.
So I had to consider that I might have applied the baglet to The Pile. And once I thought of The Pile and the fact that it might possibly contain the life-giving baglet, I was in.
Here's a sample list of what is in the pile:
Coupon mailer for Lord & Taylor, expired 11/1/07.
Pay stub from 1997 itemizing a truly charming and demur sum paid to me by those bastards I used to work for.
A jump rope
A crumpled up metrocard receipt
A corroded penny
A dried out hot pink highlighter
My library card
My health insurance ID card
One post-it note covered with hearts and stars I drew while on the phone with Somebody
A half used book of matches
Four pieces of my mother's monogrammed stationary
An envelope containing about three hundred buttons
A sweater shaver
A USB cable
Another USB cable
My old cell phone
A dry cleaning receipt from 2004
A W2 form from 1999
A laundry card
Do you know, reader, what was most assuredly NOT in The Pile?
Yeah. Not. The. Baglet.
It is now 6:38am. I have stopped looking, but I can assure you that it is not because I don't care. I care a whole fucking lot. But I am out of places to look. And yes, I checked the entire yarn stash, the underwear drawer, the kitchen cabinet, the kitchen sink, file cabinet, bathroom trash and the handbag I have not looked twice at in four years. I am out of places to look.
And most assuredly screwed.
So you tell me. Where is the baglet? Where have I not looked?
Have a better Monday than I am having. You'd almost have to be dead not to.