ALL DAY LONG FREAKING OUT ABOUT KEYS.
It started out kind of okay. I systematically cleaned in all the places that my keys might have been. Admittedly vacuuming the blinds and the ceiling might not have helped much in the search, but it was oddly calming. I think.
But as I continued to not find my keys in any of the logical (or even illogical) places my anxiety built astronomically. Why? In retrospect it makes little sense. I have spare keys. This was not actually a huge problem.
However, I had imbued the loss with great power. My loss of keys was proof of my inability to function in society. Nice, huh? No pressure there. If I couldn't find my keys it would be proof that I was a complete failure.
In fact at one point in the search I did not know where my spouse was and my go-to idea was that I was now a single parent because of my failure to be able to do something so simple as keep track of necessary items.
This was far from the case, and those of you who know my spouse are now laughing until tears drip off your chins. We have known one another since junior high. We have been best friends forever. My absent-mindedness was not unknown at the time of our marriage and I have lost many things over the course of our time together.
I shut down partway through the day and sank into my bed in utter despair. I did not sleep. I just stared into space and then sneakily watched contemporary dance on the ipad.
The living room (really the only room of consequence in our house) was all but clean and I still had no clue where to look for keys. I had looked everywhere. They had clearly been devoured by a rogue black hole. Just a tiny one. It was the only possible explanation of all the facts.
Except then I remembered the youngest one saying to me, "Mama, are these my keys?" and without looking at them I said yes. That had been two days ago. The keys could be anywhere. Or those actually could have been her keys.
I spent some fruitless time asking if she knew where my keys were. Then decided I just needed to embrace my inner buddhist and let go.
I called a friend and related the story. after which my youngest said, "Did our keys get mixed up?" I said maybe. Do you know where your keys are? "Yes."
Then the two-year-old danced into my bedroom and announced, "Here they are!"
Grateful Stuff: having an incredibly verbal two-year-old who listens to adult conversations, makes intuitive leaps and can communicate pretty much anything she wants to with any English speaker.
took meds (150mg sertraline, 150mg bupropion -- crap. forgot to go to pick up prescription)
decluttered, but it really doesn't count because I was almost hyperventilating the whole time
saw a friend, watched a funny movie and laughed. And that does count. Because it was awesome.
Quaker, teacher, parent,