Amusing Bryce anecdote ahead, detailing one of the many ways I am occasionally (or frequently) stupid.
So let me set the stage for you first. I was planning on going out ice fishing yesterday morning with TRC, despite the sub-zero temperatures. I'd had fun the first day, and I wanted to do it again, dagnabbit. So I got out everything I needed the night before. Hats, gloves, snow pants, scarves, mittens--you name it. Everything was set. I got up early in the morning, did my writing for the day, and then packed everything up.
I'm a punctual person. I like to be where I'm supposed to be when I'm supposed to be there. I was ecstatic when I was heading out the door with two minutes to spare. I was going to be right on time, and I'd gotten TRC ready to come with me as well (with lots of help from Denisa, of course). Everything was set. On the way out the door, Denisa asked, "Do you have your license?"
I called back that of course I did. What sort of a ninny goes driving without their license?
Two miles down the road, I realized that she was talking about my fishing license. My fishing license which was on the kitchen hutch. So I flipped a U-turn and went back to the house, disappointed that I'd be a tad late, but still feeling pretty on top of things.
Problem: the license wasn't where I'd left it. Ensue frantic 15 minute search through the house, blazing through piles of paper and every nook and cranny known to man. I'm getting increasingly upset, since I'm now both very late and think I'm losing my mind. There was a group of people waiting for me to go, and I couldn't get in touch with them. I tried to print my license again, but the computer decided to crash.
It wasn't a good 15 minutes.
At last I call the wife of one of the guys I'm going with and get directions to the pond. I reboot the machine, fix it and print off the license. In the end, I made it to the pond before the people I was going with did--they'd waited for me, which had put them back some, and my house was closer to the pond than the place they were waiting.
It all worked out, but I still wondered where in the world I'd put my license.
When I was getting change last night, I found the license.
In my jeans pocket, where it had been all along.
I also discovered that in my rush to get out to the pond, I'd ended up leaving my wallet behind.
What sort of a ninny goes driving without their license?
Me. I am that ninny.
So in the end, I'd turned around to go home and leave my driver's license there (the very thing I'd thought Denisa had been warning me against), just so I could get a second copy of my fishing license. I should have just not turned around and gone straight, arriving punctually as planned.
And people wonder why one of my goals this year is to cut down on clutter and be more organized . . .