Tuesday, August 24, 2010
Gone Baby Gone
The unimaginable happened. I left my computer in a hotel room in Ann Arbor, Michigan. She was eight hours away past cornfields and the craziness of Chicago. I actually slapped my forehead in frustration when I realized what had happened, just like a cartoon character. It was a case of he thought she put it in the car and she thought he put it in the car and well, the responsibility was technically mine and that was good because I am sure the toll I would have exacted on Cowboy Dave would have been steep.
I grabbed the phone and went through the pile of sheets the travel website had spewed at us and bingo, found the hotel number and I was talking to Holly at the front desk. I waited an anxious and fearful 30 seconds while Holly checked to see if they indeed did have it. Oh no, surely everybody at the front desk would be aware a laptop had been left behind. It's not like a half-used bottle of Head & Shoulders. And yes, Baby was there. They would fed-ex it to me and how many days of shipping would I prefer. Well, I wanted it overnight but my emotional mountain was subsiding and I agreed to the more economical three-day plan. Bam, down goes the phone and I begin ranting about the incident and how could it happen and oh my God, this and that. Dave, always a sharp cookie, growls, "call-em back and get the overnight plan. I'll pay for it." He would have had to live with me, laptopless me, for that week.
And now let me tell you about the ordeal.
First, I am an easy addict. It takes very little time for me to become insanely attached to a food, kind of music, TV program, actor, walking trail, pattern of clothing, exercise routine, anything. I go to the same restaurants every week and I order the same thing. The clothing I have in my closet looks the same as the clothing I had there 20 years. Heck, it may be the same clothing. Once I find something that I like it is printed on my head and heart and I never stray. I am not fickle. Addictive personalities run in my family. Ask my brother, Davie. We know our weakness.
I got this laptop last Christmas and within four weeks I could barely move my thumb joint on my left hand due the excessive use of my new toy. The boys had introduced me to Plants vs Zombies and I was hooked playing this game at every available moment. Then I discovered Solitaire (53% win rate) and then facebook and now blogging. The thumb has become so painful that I will need to have medical attention and I am hoping this will not involve a surgery or a cast. Thus, my addiction. I play with the pain.
My husband would comment, "well, you're getting your money's worth out of it." Actually, his money and I was glad this was his take on it and he was not writing letters to Dear Abbey about my obsession or not planning in intervention group.
Day One: at first the relief that Baby had been found was enough to satisfy my lack of laptop on my lap, but that I found to be extremely brief.
My ears heard the beeping of an ATM machine and it reminded me of the sound my laptop makes when I open it up and I was drawn to the machine and I caressed its little keyboard. Kind of like an alcoholic hearing a beer can opening or a smoker the click of a Bic.
I wanted to send out a brief note with a birthday card. Instead, three pages of useless info on a legal pad gets written.
I need to get out of the house. So, after my dear husband has driven me eight hours back home that day I am dragging him out in 87 degree heat to take a walk on the floodwall. And then over to the Yardarm for beer on a Sunday night (oh no!) and a listen to this really crummy musician do Jimmy Buffet imitations. Back home I am thinking about cleaning out the fridge at 10:30 p.m. I didn't have this much adrenaline when I quit smoking.
Next day, no better. Made three trips to the store, one at 9:00 p.m to buy coconut extract and a can of cream of coconut for this recipe I insisted I had to try. I hemmed a shirt, for cryin' out loud, and enjoyed it. All the towels were washed whether they needed it.
Next day. I have called FedEx and the package will be there by 10:30. Cameron and I are waiting outside at 9:30. FedEx guy pulls up and smiles when I identify myself. "Waiting patiently, I see," he says. Not THAT patiently, I reply.