Losing your shit in the great outdoors

Wake up around 6 in the morning just as it’s starting to get light. A lazy Sunday morning. I pet Mini Scaredy the feral cat for a bit and lay there with nothing on the schedule except to laze around doing nothing for the next couple hours. A glorious feeling. . . When I look into my backpack and realize my battery charger for my cellphone isn’t in there. Darn darn darn!!! Realize I probably left it plugged into the outdoor outlet where I was sitting getting gloriously drunk the night before. °duh°

Dump some cat food in Mini Scaredy’s cat food dish and go rushing back down the trail in the direction of civilization. This is the last thing I want to do at this particular juncture in my life (hungover, etc.). But it’s still early in the morning and if I get there in time there’s a good chance I’ll be able to get there before somebody spots it and walks off with it (which the bastards will do). … This is actually one of the big hazards of living on the streets, living outside (especially when alcohol is added to the equation). Losing your shit. I mean, consider this. When YOU lose something or misplace something in your home or apartment, at least you know it’s still there somewhere inside your place, and there’s a good chance you’ll find it eventually. But when you live outside, you put something down in the course of your day and then forget about it and walk off, and then hours — or days — later — you realize the item is missing. And it’s a big world you’re living in. The first thing you have to do is try and figure out where you might have left it. Then you go rushing backwards, re-tracing your steps, retracing everywhere that you had been, in the hopes of finding the thing . As well as the desperate gnawing anxiety that the item will still be sitting there waiting for you if-and-when you get to that spot. . . You have no idea how many times I’ve re-played this scenario (with about an 80% success rate at eventually finding the damn thing).

It took me 15 minutes to get back to this spot. And THERE it was! Just sitting there! Happy joy joy. . . . Now I can trudge back up to my campsite and resume my blessed Sunday morning of laying around doing nothing. The End.

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