Thursday, October 24, 2013

I can't find my shoes.

I am a responsible, mature adult, and I cannot find my shoes. They are not in any of the usual places.

They are not by the cat tree. They are not by the screen door. They are not by the front door, or by the towel closet near the garage door. They are not in any of the usual places.

But, I have checked those usual places at least three times, because where else could my shoes be? After my fourth trip around the house, I decide to look in unusual places.

They are not in the bathroom. They are not in my office. They are not in my husband's office or in the family room. If I had not taken my Concerta this morning, I would probably be throwing things around by now in frustration, because I cannot find my shoes.

A new idea occurs to me; do a perimeter search. So, I start by the front door and look along the walls and walk the inside perimeter of my house. The family room, the kitchen, the living room, my husband's office, the hallway, the bedroom ...

... and there they are, next to a laundry basket full of clean clothes I folded a week ago but have not put away, yet. They are under a bathrobe that is draping over the edge of the basket and onto the floor, hiding my shoes.

This was 30 minutes of my life that I will never get back. I will tack it on to other 30 minute increments (or more) that I have wasted in similar efforts, like finding my car keys, finding my coat, or, yes, finding my shoes.

I do not wish to add up all of those increments, because it might make me sad to think of how much life I have wasted because of this disorder. Instead, I think I will be happy that I found my shoes.