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No, no, no!  Not that kind of loser!  I mean the kind of loser that actually loses things, so many things.    Small things.  Large things.  Important things.  Totally inconsequential things.  Cheap things,  Expensive things.   And who knows how many things I’ve lost that I don’t even know are gone?    

There are several explanations for my loser designation, but no real reason.  One, of course, is my earlier blog about my “collections”. I have a lot of stuff; some of the unenlightened and/or unimaginative may call it junk, or even landfill.  With that amount  of accumulated future projects, and no attic or basement for storage, it’s inevitable that some items may find their way into a stash where it doesn’t belong and is, therefore, “unfindable.”
Another explanation is my age.  You probably know the one about us elderly people believing wholeheartedly in the hereafter.  After all, half the time when I walk into a room, I say to myself, “What am I here after?”  However, I have always had this affliction. As an infant, I’m sure I was constantly looking for my pacifier.
I also have a habit of multi-tasking, which I now know is detrimental to productivity, but which I used to consider one of my positive attributes.  I have often carried a number of objects which need to be deposited into various locations, only to find myself sifting through the trash to see if the seashells I meant to put into a storage bin are there, since my  popsicle wrapper is setting on my scallop shells.
Now this next explanation may seem incongruous.  Mindfulness.  “Being mindful” has been a buzz phrase for a couple of decades now, and I can honestly say I have tried to be aware of my surroundings, my feelings, my actions.  You know how when someone tells you not to think about an elephant, and elephants keep thrusting themselves smack dab into the middle of your thoughts?  Mindfulness, to me, is like that, but in reverse.  The more I try to be conscious of whatever it is I’m focusing upon, the more it slips into some secret closet in my brain.  I make  such an effort to be aware of what I am doing, but my mind goes on its own journey.  The worst  is when I really think I am concentrating on putting something in a safe place…and I’m sure I did; I just can’t recall the safe place.
An unfortunate side effect of being a loser is having to replace items that have gone missing. While my husband was cleaning the garage, he came across four drills.  (Did I mention that I am married to a loser?)  I buy tape measures in triplicate. Every Christmas stocking is stuffed with new flashlights. I think I am on my fifth set of jeweler’s pliers.  And I really think that earrings and socks should come in sets of three.
This disorder certainly causes stress. I have no idea how much of my life has been spent looking for things that I have misplaced.  Like almost everything in life though, there’s a silver lining… there is such satisfaction when  I actually find something I am seeking. Then there is the ecstasy when I come across some long-forgotten “treasure.”
However, if I had my “druthers”, I had rather not have the malady. I would rather be organized and be able to pinpoint the exact location of things.  I would rather not call myself such disparaging nicknames as I go through the same drawers and purses and closets repeatedly, while at the same time, inwardly cursing anyone who has walked into my house, since I know they must have either moved or removed my lost item. 

 I am not one of those fortunate individuals with the “everything has its  place and it will always be there” genes.  But that’s okay; I can live with the ailment because I’m so happy to be living!  I asked my daughter for help with a concluding paragraph.  Her response was “maybe something about how artists and geniuses are messy and that it allows for more creativity”.  I am choosing to lose her exact words.  To paraphrase, she said, “Mom, you are an artistic, creative genius.”  I told you I’m a loser.