Earlier this week, I couldn't find my backpack. Since I planned to go to sleep soon, I went downstairs to look for it. It was fairly late, a few hours after midnight, so all the lights were off. As I head down the stairs, lights still off, a thought struck me. This was my house. If I can find my way through foreign cities by glancing at a map for 5 minutes, I can certainly roam around my house in the dark to look for my backpack.
I should explain by saying that I do this more often than I'd like to admit. It always starts with a seemingly mundane thought.
"Hey, I wonder how blind people would walk in my house?" or "I bet me that I can't get a cup water in the dark," or "Let's be stupid and not use lights, Andrew," followed by, "Okay, Andrew!"
So my blind search for my backpack was not without precedent. I walk down the stairs without any problem, and I turn the corner into the living room. I remember that I dropped my backpack in front of my couch before dinner, so I cross the room confidently toward the couch.
The furniture in my living room can be a bit tricky. The main obstacle is the coffee table in the middle of it. This wooden table, though, is propped up on wheels, so unless we're entertaining guests, it is sometimes rolled to the side. I was 70% sure that was its position when I walked into the living room. Thankfully, I was right, and I did not jam my toes into what would have been very solid mahogany.
The second interesting fact about the furnishings is that the couches match the coffee table. This may not sound unreasonable, but we actually bought them separately. The point is, the couches are made of wood, and the only thing comfortable about them are their three cushions. Otherwise, they can be very unforgiving. They look like this, except with a bit less tacky design on the pillows:
Anyway, my backpack, as I recall, was on the ground on the far right of the couch. I walk across the living room and search with my hands. I then get the bright idea (get it?) to search with my leg. I kick exactly where my backpack should have been. I say "should have been" because my backpack was not there. Instead, the wooden bottom of the couch happily greeted my shin.
Angrily realizing my backpack was not downstairs, I walk up again, and lo and behold, my backpack was chillin' next to my computer. Vexed, I went to sleep, feeling like the fool I was. This was the first incident.
The second incident occurred a few days later. I won't go into as much detail because I think I got way overzealous with the last one. Short story short: I couldn't find my phone upstairs so I went downstairs. It wasn't there and so I came back upstairs and my dumbass brain remembers that I started charging it on my bed already. It was another waste of a downstairs trip in the dark, less painful, but definitely equally as stupid.
At this point, I'm rather peeved at myself for not remembering, but then again, I can do nothing about it. It could have been worse, right? I could have lost those things altogether.
Tonight, though, was the final straw. Right now it's 6AM. About 15 minutes ago, I decided it was well past my bed time, so I decided to sleep. However, I couldn't find my phone again. Learning from my previous mistakes, I decided to search my room thoroughly. I spent five minutes rummaging through my pockets, my laundry and my bedsheets to no avail. It had to be in my room. The history of my incompetence told me so. Frustrated, I began my trek down the stairs.
This time, I turn on all the lights. I was in no mood to challenge myself for no reason. I head into the kitchen and my motherfucking phone was sitting right on the fucking table like the smug little fuckface it is.
The moral of this vulgar story is my brain is a worthless piece of shit that has the memory and retention capacity of a rock.
