Some of you may not know that I have a degree, a BA. Others of you may not know what it is in, Anthropology. And most of you are unaware what that entails or what my specialties were/are. While my primary focus was cultures, cultural interactions, societies and structuring of cultural-socio belief systems, and I was also trained in Archaeology. Yup, just call me Indie and I have worked on an official dig and everything. (no bad guys in sight, only a bunch of 5th graders)
Since the move in to the new house, I feel as though I am stepping back into that archaeology mind-set. Why, you ask? Because I can't find a damn thing!
I was careful when I labeled the boxes. Locations and a brief description of what is inside to jog my memory when the time came to unpack. So it's been 18 days WITHOUT a hair dryer. The yarn I bought for specific Christmas projects and gifts went MIA. I know I have more than 6 pairs of undies, but I can't seem to find them. (thank god the washer and dryer work!)
I have been systematically searching boxes based on a nice grid search using key clues to track down the items that are buried in the boxes and disorder. I have been rationally dissecting where I would have packed these items. They were held out until the last moment for use, then pack for the move the night before. With all my logical labeling and rational, this should have been a simple task. Uh-uh.
Last night it came to a head with me completely loosing myself in a frustrated predatory hunt through the house for the missing items. The cat hid under the sofa and cringed back from the gleam of madness in my eyes. The neighbor's dogs bayed in warning and fear at the scent of the wild beast that had entered their territory. The glint of the box cutter flashed as paper was strewn through out the house, pitiful discarded remains of the rage, the battle.
By the end, no box stood whole. The complete and utter chaos that best describes the savage scene, lay waiting in tension. Waiting to see if the beast had finished it's rampage. The air was still. All grails were uncovered but the ever elusive hairdryer. Logic had failed to find it. Shear animal-istic hunting instincts failed to find it. All hope was lost. It was time to admit defeat. I went into the master bath to prepare for bed and wash the remains of battle from my face. While drying my face with a towel, the cat appears, looking at me to check the level of sanity in my eyes and then proceeds to paw open the cabinet under the sink. A favorite past-time of hers. She gets the cabinet door open...
There it is. My pink hair dryer. Put away where it belongs.
The last place I would have looked.