Do you ever have those moments where you overthink a situation, and in the process, totally fuck it up?
You know, like when you think to yourself, "I have this very important thing. It is very important that this very important thing not get lost, so I will be sure to put it in a very safe place, so I will always know where it is."
And then when you go to find it, not only can you not remember the very safe place, you can't even remember having had the conversation with yourself, and it ends up that the very safe place is safe enough to keep the very important object from everybody, including you.
Another example: My roommate and I were having a dinner party a week or two ago, and at one point we needed to clear some serving dishes off of the table so we'd all have room to eat. The salad, all good and mozzarella-y and basil-y and tomato-y, was in the biggest bowl we have, a large shallow metal one. For lack of room anywhere else, I put it on top of the microwave, which lives on top of the fridge. "God, be sure to remember that I put that bowl up there, or else in like a week we're going to be wandering around the kitchen trying to find where that god-awful smell is coming from, and then we'll find the bowl and be like, oh my god, I'm going to barf from the disgusting week-old rotten salad," I said.
Cut to several days down the road. I'm doing dishes because a) the sink is full, but more importantly, b) our kitchen is getting smelly. And it suddenly hits me, and I slowly turn around...and there's the big bowl, still on top of the microwave, and full of the now rather unpleasant remains of the salad. "Found the salad," I texted to my roommate. "HAHAHAHAHA," she replied.
At least we knew it was going to happen.
More immediately, and what brought this whole topic to mind, happened on Saturday night. Shiv and I had just had a wonderful time meeting the lovely Miss Mare in person, eating cheese and drinking martinis and gossiping like mad over at Marion's. (p.s. hey Mare, send me pictures!) I stop off at an ATM to get money for a cab, and as I'm putting my card into the machine, I think to myself, "Man, I really hate these stupid slot-loading ATMs. I'm always worried that I'm going to totally forget and just walk off without my card."
Then, apparently because my brain was satisfied that I had spent the requisite amount of time thinking about the situation, promptly forgot all about it. Which explains why I have no ATM card this morning; the branch just told me that the card has been shredded and I have to order a new one. Damn it damn it damn it DAMN it.
Maybe I should buy a pad of post-its that I can just stick to my arm or something. Of course, I'd probably just forget to bring the pad of post-its with me when I leave the house.