But...I put it in a space place

I am formally announcing myself as "that person". I have been putting things in "safe places" for about the past three years, and they are gone, folks. G-O-N-E.

I have this absolutely beautiful pen my friend bought me, and I'm on the last ink fill from the original box. I found the pen on Amazon and ordered replacements because I LOVE THIS PEN. The pen is now becoming unstable, and I can't remember where in the zippity-doo-dah I put the replacements. From this year. It's July. I'm unamused.

I cleaned out the blanket/towel cabinet in the big bathroom and finally put my pillowcases in there instead of my clothes closet. I wash the sheets, and I go to replace my pillowcase, only to find that, what in the everloving hell, I can't find that. I tear up the little corner in my clothes closet where the pillowcase resided until I remember, oh *SHIT* I put it with the other pillowcases.  😑 

I've put so many things in "safe places" in the Sanctuary (my office) closet, I've had to reorder them. I still can't find my desk scissors from last November. Probably with my damn pen ink refills. 

The irony. That's what cuts the deepest. These are "special" things that belong in "safe" spaces. 

I had a toy in my office closet that had been there approximately three years that I forgot to give to a granddaughter for Christmas/birthday. Managed to eke that out for the youngest granddaughter's Christmas, I believe. 

For the love of...I'm sitting here blogging, and I glance up at a little black and white box on my desk. I grab it and pull it down.

It's the pen refills. 

😶

I can't with myself.

Crystal*