Losing Things All the Time
The past month-ish has been a convergence of several elements of my life that before, never really seemed to fit together in any orderly/logical manner. I have found myself experiencing one great thing after another. It’s been this dreamy sort of flow, a sequence of events I wouldn’t have dared to imagine just a few months ago. There has been one glitch though. The whole reason I’m writing this post tonight is because I am missing (note: not ‘I lost’ because it will be found) my REAL journal, moleskine #2, journal #19. For the second time in my life (the first time it was stolen from me when I was in the 5th grade), the archive of my sporadic thought processes and goings-on is out of my reach.
This does not come as a huge surprise to me. I always misplace things, often within small 1-minute windows of having said item/s in my hand, only to be frantically looking in the most obscure places the next. This habit has led to several inconveniences and delays in my “adult” life. Take for example, the weekend of my second marathon in San Francisco, when I left my wallet behind in Portland. Of course, I only drove to the city one way on this trip and had a flight booked to return home. Picture my Dad trying to convince Reno’s lax TSA that I’m indeed, Rachael, at airport security in Reno at 6am Monday morning. That was only a minor error. There was also the time I had a CD BIBLE (you know, the 120-space phonebook-size beast we all had with every CD ever owned), and I was CONVINCED that it was stolen out of my unlocked car while I was running. I was so overcome with desperation to find the thing, I actually filed a police report. Guess where it was? In my dirty clothes hamper! Things that make you chuckle, right? But this journal one is kind of a big deal.
The result of this lapse has been a significant upheaval, both mental and physical. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve unmade and remade my bed, checked the same drawer, car floor, dumped my backpack, dug through trash.. I want so badly to write in its few remaining pages, maybe put a fall leaf in the little jacket in the back. It contains some pretty pivotal details of the past year and a half or so that I really would rather not wind up in the hands of an undeserving vagrant. Knowing my flighty mind, it’s not entirely impossible that it is indeed in a stranger’s hands, or worse, in a dumpster or the ashes from one of the fires my roommates and I had within the last week.
What I am NOT getting at is that I am a completely irresponsible moron. This post is not a demonstrative. It’s a type of reconciliation, a plea, to the forces that be, maybe even to my flighty brain. I am sorry to overlook the whereabouts of something I consult everyday, even amidst moving and being uncontrollably bubbly lately. It’s been a long time since this has happened, and I learned my lesson. I will not misplace things anymore. I really don’t want to start another journal before finishing this one or have an entire volume missing from my archived life. Funny how all that stuff I wrote about is still there (it did happen in TIME), but me, the physical representation of it all, feels all empty and such. Not dissing on the blog, but that beat up black little moleskine is on a completely different plane than RackelRuns.
PLEASE come back to me, Journal #19.
Rachael's (gasp!) Blog 