OK so I'm going to elaborate on this unfortunate, whimsical, and utterly frustrating event that ruined about 16 hours of my life.
This will prove: 1) I'm an idiot and/or 2) God hates me
So yesterday the summer league soccer team I play on (Care Bears) had a match. We tied, we should have won, but we just came up short of the victory. Anyways I get home and chill for a few and proceed to the shower. blah blah I'm hungry so I decide to fetch some food with the $3 I have in my wallet. . .wait a minute, WHERE'S my wallet!!?? So I like look around, check the bed, under the desk, downstairs, the car. . .no dice. Let's backtrack. . .I took my wallet to the field (mistake #1 - I should have left it in the car. Why do I need it on the sidelines in my shoebox?) A teammate and I were the last two from our team to leave. The next game had already started. Did I drop it there? On the way to the car? I remember having it out to see how much cash was there. Hmm. . quite sure I put it back in my pocket. Pretty sure I had it when I got to the car because I considered hitting up 7-11. Well shit. . .
Its dark by this time and all I have is a rather small and luminescently challenged flashlight. So I look outside the car, follow my path to the door, check under the deck. . nothing. Next logical step (in my mind): return to the field with my crappy flashlight. So there I am in total darkness scanning my path to the where we were on the sideline. Nothing. I return home as sure as Shirley Temple in sausage curls that my wallet is in my room somewhere.
Now I get down and dirty in my room, shit is flying everywhere, blood pressure is rapidly reaching John Belushi levels. Full freakout mode.Walk throught the house five times, search the car twice more. Hope is fading. I call my friend Triple (Eric) who played in the game after mine. No news there. Note: I just moved so there are no ties to my new address in my wallet. I give up for the night, decide to wait for daylight.
10:30 am I arise rather relunctantly and proceed to search outside. . nope. Return to the field, nothing, check the desk of the rec center nothing, go back home. Reality is starting to sink in. . .freakout commences: ICAN'T HAVE THIS HAPPENRIGHT NOW!!TOOMANYTHINGSTODO!!AREN'TTHINGSBADENOUGHTHATI NEEDTOFINDAWAYTOTHROWAWAYADAYTHATIPLANNEDTOUSETO GETRATHERIMPORTANTTHINGSDONE!!*insert random shouts, screams, curses.
This means I gotta deal with the DMV to get a new license, cancel the debit card, lose all those random scribblings on tattered reciepts, lose all those phone numbers from all those smart and sexy women, worry about someone using those tattered receipts to do something nasty to my bank account, realize I don't have any phone numbers from any smart, sexy women (they're all in my. . . cell. . .phone. . .yeah. . .you see. .yeah)
So after doing a lot of pushups and attempting to put myself in a self induced hypnotic trance to glean any lingering sensory information from my subconscious mind I give in. It's 4 pm and I need to take steps. I call the bank and cancel my banking cards (why I have more than one. . no clue). Call the parents to warn them I might be bumming some $$. Call the DMV is find out what I need to bring with me to get a replacement DL. 15 minutes into the estimated 22 minute (!) hold time I go downstairs to eat something. I return to my room sans food and stand by my chair. Why is my wallet sitting next to my foot in the middle of the floor?? (At this point a hallucination. . understandable)
Now earlier I was trying to rationalize how my wallet could disappear and came to the conclusion that the swift hand of God snatched it. The previous night in the shower I reflected back on the day when most of the faith in said being went poof and how I didn't see how it would ever return and all I have is a glimmer of hope. Just so you know I spend a lot of time alone. I'm in a sort of self-imposed exile while I try to regain a grip on things and write some music or write. . anything. Besides I'm not dealing well with anything right now (obviously). So either I'll come out of this 1) with my shit back somewhat together 2) further down the well 3) with some really good creative energy derived from soul-wrenching lonliness. let's take bets.
Well class, what did Prof. Angel prove? Is he an idiot? Does God hate him? (Note: there is no way in hell that the wallet was sitting there on the floor the whole time) This is truly a case for the Mulder/Scully team, Dan Millman, or Robert Pirsig in my opinion.
Am I an idiot? I think that may have been proven long ago
Does God hate me? Well I'm not sure, but I surely wouldn't blame her
This will prove: 1) I'm an idiot and/or 2) God hates me
So yesterday the summer league soccer team I play on (Care Bears) had a match. We tied, we should have won, but we just came up short of the victory. Anyways I get home and chill for a few and proceed to the shower. blah blah I'm hungry so I decide to fetch some food with the $3 I have in my wallet. . .wait a minute, WHERE'S my wallet!!?? So I like look around, check the bed, under the desk, downstairs, the car. . .no dice. Let's backtrack. . .I took my wallet to the field (mistake #1 - I should have left it in the car. Why do I need it on the sidelines in my shoebox?) A teammate and I were the last two from our team to leave. The next game had already started. Did I drop it there? On the way to the car? I remember having it out to see how much cash was there. Hmm. . quite sure I put it back in my pocket. Pretty sure I had it when I got to the car because I considered hitting up 7-11. Well shit. . .
Its dark by this time and all I have is a rather small and luminescently challenged flashlight. So I look outside the car, follow my path to the door, check under the deck. . nothing. Next logical step (in my mind): return to the field with my crappy flashlight. So there I am in total darkness scanning my path to the where we were on the sideline. Nothing. I return home as sure as Shirley Temple in sausage curls that my wallet is in my room somewhere.
Now I get down and dirty in my room, shit is flying everywhere, blood pressure is rapidly reaching John Belushi levels. Full freakout mode.Walk throught the house five times, search the car twice more. Hope is fading. I call my friend Triple (Eric) who played in the game after mine. No news there. Note: I just moved so there are no ties to my new address in my wallet. I give up for the night, decide to wait for daylight.
10:30 am I arise rather relunctantly and proceed to search outside. . nope. Return to the field, nothing, check the desk of the rec center nothing, go back home. Reality is starting to sink in. . .freakout commences: ICAN'T HAVE THIS HAPPENRIGHT NOW!!TOOMANYTHINGSTODO!!AREN'TTHINGSBADENOUGHTHATI NEEDTOFINDAWAYTOTHROWAWAYADAYTHATIPLANNEDTOUSETO GETRATHERIMPORTANTTHINGSDONE!!*insert random shouts, screams, curses.
This means I gotta deal with the DMV to get a new license, cancel the debit card, lose all those random scribblings on tattered reciepts, lose all those phone numbers from all those smart and sexy women, worry about someone using those tattered receipts to do something nasty to my bank account, realize I don't have any phone numbers from any smart, sexy women (they're all in my. . . cell. . .phone. . .yeah. . .you see. .yeah)
So after doing a lot of pushups and attempting to put myself in a self induced hypnotic trance to glean any lingering sensory information from my subconscious mind I give in. It's 4 pm and I need to take steps. I call the bank and cancel my banking cards (why I have more than one. . no clue). Call the parents to warn them I might be bumming some $$. Call the DMV is find out what I need to bring with me to get a replacement DL. 15 minutes into the estimated 22 minute (!) hold time I go downstairs to eat something. I return to my room sans food and stand by my chair. Why is my wallet sitting next to my foot in the middle of the floor?? (At this point a hallucination. . understandable)
Now earlier I was trying to rationalize how my wallet could disappear and came to the conclusion that the swift hand of God snatched it. The previous night in the shower I reflected back on the day when most of the faith in said being went poof and how I didn't see how it would ever return and all I have is a glimmer of hope. Just so you know I spend a lot of time alone. I'm in a sort of self-imposed exile while I try to regain a grip on things and write some music or write. . anything. Besides I'm not dealing well with anything right now (obviously). So either I'll come out of this 1) with my shit back somewhat together 2) further down the well 3) with some really good creative energy derived from soul-wrenching lonliness. let's take bets.
Well class, what did Prof. Angel prove? Is he an idiot? Does God hate him? (Note: there is no way in hell that the wallet was sitting there on the floor the whole time) This is truly a case for the Mulder/Scully team, Dan Millman, or Robert Pirsig in my opinion.
Am I an idiot? I think that may have been proven long ago
Does God hate me? Well I'm not sure, but I surely wouldn't blame her
sureality:
I am so glad you enjoyed the new Alexsandria Shoot. Check out my journal for behind the scenes.