I lost my phone for 30 seconds and I just about had a heart attack. It slipped between the driver’s seat and the middle compartment thingy (the part with the cup holders and such). I noticed it fall, but I felt too preoccupied to retrieve it, and eventually I forgot where it went.
Isn’t it funny how we can forget the small stuff like that? We spend so much time focused on the big picture that we begin to neglect the details – the phones, the keys, the New Year’s Resolutions to reconnect with that childhood friend whose face we’ve ironically also forgotten – and then what? Then we have to deal with the ensuing panic, the fear that we’ve forgotten something essential that might have been a part of us. But it’s not as if this panic is infinite, no. Remembrance is a magnificent drug, so the panic doesn’t last. So I suppose that explains why, as I sat in the parking lot of some drab little cathedral, waiting for the appropriate moment to enter my childhood friend’s funeral service, I felt only a sense of relief (and my phone in my hand).