Nearly five minutes ahead of schedule before leaving for work, I gather my thoughts.
Phone. Phone… Phone?
I walk into my room slowly, puzzled. I glance at the spot on top of my three foot lava lamp which serves as my phone holder, the charging cord lies at the base. No phone. I scan the room and my eyes trail over my landline phone. Naturally, I could call my cell. Then I remember that I may just have turned my phone to vibrate or beep once. Dammit.
I dial the number, tilting my ears to catch any sound in the room.
Aha! Where dost thou hide ye ingrate of a phone? In the room, eh? I hear you. I redial.
I fall to my knees; my body stiff mimicking a pointer trying to flush out a bird. I heard it.
Did I throw it on my bed? Cursing that I’m wasting time I tear through my sheets, waving my blankets like a flag, which causes the poor cat to dig her toes frantically into the carpet to propel herself out the room.
I look around. It’s staring at me I’m sure. It’s hiding from me. I call it again.
Under the bed sham? I flip up the checkered sham. Nothing. Laying innocently on one of my shelf? I narrow my eyes and curse my various knickknacks, all about the size of a small phone.
I sit, take a breath, redial.
Close. Sitting on the floor, I tap my left back pocket where I usually keep it. Nothing.
I put my head against my hand and I shift my butt on the floor – ach! I lift my hand to pat the other side. I feel the hard outline of my phone.
I’m losing my damn mind.