last night, on a whim, i went looking for my passport. i keep it in the same place and am pretty anal about putting it back in that same spot. the last time i took it out was for the trip up north in april when my brother was out; we all thought we’d go up to canada but never made it. anyway, last night, i went to the place where i keep my passport and it wasn’t there. gone. couldn’t find it. ahhhh!
i’m pretty convinced there’s a little gnome who lives in the space between my walls and likes to come out at night and take my coolest, more important stuff and either keep it for himself or use it a while and stash it elsewhere. i swear i’ve misplaced more things in this apartment than any other place or time in my life. it’s rare that i misplace anything. i’m not the type to lose my keys or forget my debit card at the grocery store or leave my wallet in someone’s front seat. but i have gone hunting for countless things in this apartment. eventually i find them, but never in sensical places.
i panicked when i couldn’t find the passport. i went through every drawer, through all the closets, in between books and in nooks and crannies where a passport wouldn’t even fit, let alone be. i told B, i can’t find my passport. will you help me find it? and my tone was such that he knew i was serious and starting to freak out. together we nearly turned the place inside out: no passport. all the while i was thinking, shit, i have TOO MUCH STUFF, i’m such a packrat, i’m too sentimental and nostalgic, i’ve got to get rid of all this crap, i’m so disorganized, shit, this is going to cost me a boatload to get a new passport expedited to me before france. and i’m quite attached to that old passport, what with its snazzy french visa and work permit. it’s got an old-school photo of me looking so young and grim and unsmiling and 21.
and then … passport found. in a bag of winter clothes and knee-high socks, in a closet i rarely visit. why? why the hell was it in there? who put my passport in there? mr. gnome, are you listening??