About a Book
So let me detail my evening for you, that odd evening of a few nights previous. There I was, at the table, peacefully and happily reading the last few pages of my book, About a Boy. It's by the same guy that wrote High Fidelity, which I loved (both the book and the movie). In fact, I'd bought 2 more of his and read How to Be Good on the flight to New Zealand (actually I finished it before we got to LA). I didn't like that one.
And as I started reading About a Boy I wasn't too impressed, I had just about resigned myself to not liking it much (it, and How to Be Good, felt like Gordon Korman children's books, but not nearly as clever or funny) when, lo and behold, either it picked up or I fell in. Or both. Whatever, I started to like it. So I wanted to finish it, you know?
And so that's where I was that night at the table, immersed and anxious to finish, when Lindsay came out and asked if I was ready for bed. Which I was, so I got up and took a plate and cup into the kitchen before coming back through the dining room to pick up my book and head into the bedroom. I tossed my book onto the bed and went to brush my teeth (and, in the unlikely event that you're a dentist, we'll just have you believe that I flossed, too). So it was with growing excitement that I came back into the bedroom to finish my book and with not a small amount of surprise that I didn't see it anywhere.
Now the thing is, I'd been in sort of a daze through most of that. It was regular standard stuff and I did it all automatically, so when I didn't see my book I had to try to wake my memory up so I could go pick it up wherever I'd dumped it when I wasn't dumping it on the bed. And I did get some echoes, but my bat-ly skills are poor 'cause they didn't lead me to my book. So I looked, and looked, and looked. I looked in the clothes hamper and I looked in the trash can. I looked in the dishwasher and I looked in the toilet. I looked under the bed, behind the bed, under the mattress on the bed. I looked in rooms I hadn't been anywhere near. I looked in the recycle bin, the closets, the cat's litter box, and my dresser. About the only places I didn't look were out in the car and inside my guitar case.
I didn't find it. Anywhere. I finally gave up and went to sleep, convinced it would turn up in the morning. It didn't. It hasn't. It's been most of a week now. Dude...
Doug's thoughts on nothing in particular