The relative heaviness of being Radzer

[radegund]

yiskah was talking about losing things. My comment to her ballooned, and was also All About Me, so I've put it here instead, as a rather pointless entry...

I have an uncanny facility not to lose things, although I live in a state of relative chaos. Even seasonal things, like gloves and sunglasses: I've been known to use the same ones for years and years.

I seem to have some kind of a "possessions field": I can feel if something I had earlier is now missing. It's definitely an unconscious tic rather than something I have to remember. I have one handbag, and everything in it has a particular place. When I go out, I know how many items I'm carrying (e.g. handbag, bag full of random crap that I'm bringing to work, phone in pocket), and when I leave anywhere, I automatically check that they're all still with me. Obviously, it doesn't always work that way, but deviations are rare.

Sometimes I even wish I did lose things more often, so that I could have the pleasure of replacing them with shiny new ones without worrying about how wasteful I was being. Little things, I'm talking about, now, obviously, like umbrellas or scarves. Not important things like phones or wallets.

One consequence of this thing-stickiness is that I use things until they fall apart. My gloves have holes in them. Most of the umbrellas in this house are broken (but still usable, so I don't actually get around to replacing them). My beloved red sunglasses, which I bought in 1993, are knocking around somewhere with sewing thread holding one of their legs on instead of a screw.

Another consequence (or maybe a cause?) is that I tend to get quite attached to these things, and if they get lost it stands out in my memory. Shortly after we moved house the best umbrella in the world disappeared. It was one of those Marks and Spencer ones that has a button to make it go up and down, and a big chunky curved wooden handle. It was great. (And it worries me deeply that I have no idea where it went.) I go and fondle its descendents sometimes in the shop, but they're not cheap, and I have about four €5 umbrellas to get through before I can justify buying one.

Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks, I suppose.

Comments

[yiskah.livejournal.com]

Wow, you are basically my opposite in this regard. I never buy sunglasses or umbrellas, because I don't need an extra thing to lose. And yet you have sunglasses from 1993? Amazing!

[cangetmad.livejournal.com]

I'm the same - I just threw away a stick of sunscreen I've had since a holiday in the US in 1994. And my gloves always work through until they're in holes - I can't even lose one!

In contrast, the stepchen lost two mobile phones in a month, has broken her glasses six times in the last year, and lost her trousers while staying the night with someone (and, I hasten to add, arrived home in friends' clothes, not naked). I can't stand it. It drives me completely mad.

[anniemess.livejournal.com]

I hang on to things too! Even when I lose them, which is EXTREMELY rare, I know where they are, and can either go back and claim them or acknowledge that they're impossible to reclaim.

I'm rather self-righteously proud of this trait, but I find it completely disturbing when it breaks down. Do you occasionally have those periods when for a few days you're out of synch with the universe? When you trip over things that have always been there, become incapable of unlocking doors you unlock five times a day, and (worst of all!) lose stuff?

These bouts for me are like colds... they last for a few days and all I can do is just hang on, hope none of my favorite objects get lost or damaged in the process, and get lots of bed rest until it just goes away on its own.

I will say, though, that just because I have gloves I bought in 1994 does not preclude me from owning gloves I bought in 1997, 1998, 2000, 2001, and 2003.

I even manage to hang on to ballpoint pens, which is tricky. They're restless little suckers. I find that if you're kind to them, they might occasionally take little vacations under your bed or in a purse you never use, but they'll eventually come home when they're hungry.