I keep forgetting stuff.  All kinds of stuff. The ‘where things are’ sort of stuff happens much too frequently.  Sometimes it’s funny, other times it’s massively distressing. Possibly this is made more terrible with my love of hoarding, but this can be empowering for me as it is good to let something’s go. Sometimes.

Today I found my university dissertation. This has been on the missing list (I like lists!) for just under a year. It was likely missing for a lot longer, but I guess things only become officially missing when you realise that they are, in fact, lost. This ‘great work’ consumed around nine months of my life and last year, when I needed to send it to someone, it was nowhere to be found. Whether it is something of great importance or something trivial makes utterly no difference, some things are simply forgotten.

Possibly one of my worst ‘losses’ in my teenage years was my goldfish. It had an agreeably round glass bowl (all future fish have had tanks with the whole filtration and lighting malarkey) and occasionally my Mum would move it around the house so it got a different view of its world. I have no idea whether or not the goldfish had a preferred spot, but it was one Sunday lunchtime when I suddenly realised that I had not seen the fish for a while and I asked my Mum where she had moved it to. At this point, both my Mum and brother burst out laughing. Apparently, it had been dead for three months and they were both waiting to see how long it would take me to notice. Three months apparently.

I have lost birthday cards, passport,  keys, phones, my car in the car park, other people’s car’s in the car park (I can be quite persuasive when I think that I know!) , paper money that I have used as bookmarks, books, glasses, cups, loaf of bread (this was last week), innumerable objects. I guess if I had less stuff then there would be fewer places for me to lose things, but I don’t think this is necessarily true as I always seem to lose more when other people have assisted in helping me tidy. I know where most of my things are in my space. Except of course when I don’t.

Acknowledging that I don’t have good personal organisational skills is hard. It is a skill that I can readily apply to others. I see clarity and simplicity when I am looking at others people’s things. With my own, I see memories and possibilities. The things themselves have long since disappeared as being independent in their own right. I feel their weight.

Epic organisation is a skill I definitely know that I have, but for some reason, I choose not to utilise it. Maybe the chaos is simply so familiar to me now that organisation feels alien. Or maybe (and possibly more likely) this is another area of my life where I have made more progress than I think but for some reason am not acknowledging.

I am doing better.

Map Point. How have I always categorised myself?

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