In Which I Question My Sanity (Again)

I stood outside at 1:00 am last night in my pajamas spilling the contents of my purse onto the front path to my house. The long-story-short* is that I woke up, thought I heard something, and convinced myself that there was a mouse in my purse next to my bed. (I have no reason to believe we have mice in the house. None. At all.) So I scrambled for shoes and flashlights and eventually the overhead light and my stash of huge black garbage bags I used last time I moved. I took a thousand deep breaths and scooped up my purse into the garbage bag, made my way out the front door and dumped everything onto the sidewalk. There was no mouse. There was never a mouse. I realized that as I stood above the entire contents of my purse glowing from a combination of the porch light and street light.

I scooped up my belongings, trashed the trash bag, and returned to my bed. Adrenaline running high and my thoughts feeling crazy. I had a mouse problem when I lived in Vermont. I'll tell that story someday. For now, let's just say that I think it caused me some type of mild PTSD. I emailed my friend Nicole, because she is the person who always receives my late-night crazy emails. Isn't she lucky? The noise returned. I whipped out my flashlight from under my covers. And saw a moth-like bug hanging out in the corner of my room. Oh. Right. At least now I know with certainty that there was never a mouse.

I could blame my bumpy morning on the whole standing-outside-in-my-pajamas-at-1:00-am ordeal, but honestly, not much about the night before changed my morning. At least not the getting up and getting ready part. I was half-way to the metro when I realized I forgot my camera. Which was a big part of my day's plans - get out of work at a reasonable hour and take a trip to the Mall to get some shots of the cherry blossoms and the capitol building with the sun shining on it. I turned around and went back to fetch my camera. And realized I also forgot my keys. And the front door was locked. I assumed the only roommate home was in the shower, so I decided to scrap my plans for the day and deal with the lost key situation later and just go to work. Then I realized there was a small chance my keys had not made it out of the plastic bag I dumped my purse contents into and that trash bag was sitting at the top of the semi-full trash can in the kitchen. I had no guarantee that my keys would not end up at the dump by evening. So I went back to my house. And my lovely roommate was not in the shower and let me with a smile and a little concern. I grabbed my camera, grabbed the bag out of the trash, and searched the most-likely places for my keys. No luck. I gave up and went to work. Late. I went to work late.

Nicole responded to my 2 am email with tear-inducing laughter. I told her about my keys. She told me I needed a bottle of wine. And a straw.Stat.

I lost my metro card earlier this week. Did I mention that?

I'm not sure I ever really come across as being "put-together" or "under control" or anything other than slightly frazzled, but if anyone ever needs evidence that my life spins out of control, I have stories like these on a regular basis. This week seems to be producing quiet a few of them.

What I can't stop thinking about though, is why this week feels sloppy, irresponsible, and distracted. It's not just the mouse freak-out or the forgotten camera or the misplaced (I refuse to call them lost at this point) keys.  I think it's an adjustment of priorities. A shift in focus. A change in seasons. It's that time in between when choas rules for a little while before the order returns. Until my priorities reset and my focus finds its new stationary point.

Or perhaps, it is just one of those weeks.

P.S. I found my keys.



*roommates (and anyone else) ask and I'll share the full story.

** I say this lightly but I know PTSD is a serious, real issue for some people.
*** Photo from last year. It was cloudy when I got out of work so I just headed home...