Loss…

I lost my keys.

Not sure if that was before, or after, I lost my mind.

I’m sitting on the cold, hard, floor,

contemplating whether I’ll find either again.

The keys will show up,

I’m sure.

They’ll be in the microwave or the fridge or my sock drawer.

I put things in these places if I don’t want to lose them.

I just can’t remember which one.

I’m not even sure I have a sock drawer,

so they’re probably not there.

Which does create an additional question as to where my socks might be?

So that’s my keys, my mind and my socks that have gone astray.

Perhaps they’ve gone on the run.

Hoping to evade the long arm of the law who are after them for a crime they didn’t commit.

Unlike me.

I committed a crime.

Not necessarily one I’d go to prison for. But definitely one that made me lose my mind.

And my keys.

And, possibly, my socks.

Maybe prison is where I should be.

We could do some kind of deal.

Like they used to on LA Law.

And Ally McBeal.

And the Good Wife.

But not Rumpole of the Bailey.

My liberty for my peace of mind. Which is worth more?

Neither are worth a Dime.

They’re not even worth a Kit Kat.

Or a Curly Wurly.

If I’ve lost my mind then how am I able to generate thoughts like the ones I’m having now?

Thoughts of.........well you know what.

Maybe you don’t know what.

I hope so.

If I haven’t lost my mind why won’t it tell me where my keys are?

And to confirm the existence, or not, of my sock drawer?

And to provide a rational explanation as to why I’m sitting on the cold, hard, floor?

Although I already know the answer to that one.

You see, that’s the thing about loss.

It has a way of pulling the rug out from under you.