Curb Your Enthusiasm

If you're not familiar with it, it's an absolutely hilarious series created by and starring Larry David, who helped create Seinfeld.

Anyway, my day today was a classic Curb episode.

It began when I decided that I needed some time to myself, so I was going to kill two birds with one stone -- drive up to Cleveland to make a Trader Joe's run, get stuff we needed, do some browsing at some of the blingier stores up there, and come back all refreshed.

Only problem was, I couldn't find my wallet immediately. So I looked for it.

And looked for it.

And looked for it. Upstairs. Downstairs. In the basement. In every single drawer in every single dresser in our house. In the refrigerator. In the freezer. Under all the furniture. Behind the refrigerator. In every single bag I have carried for the last year. In all our shoes. In all the toy baskets. In all the bathrooms, kitchen cupboards, in the washer, the dryer. In the garbage -- I'm talking taking the full bag out of the garbage can, emptying it onto a tarp, and sorting through the garbage BY HAND. My friend Gretchen and her husband and son came over and her husband and Jon did the garbage search.

It is GONE. Just. Fucking. GONE.

So the kids were running around outside in the back yard. I said if they wanted to, they could go on Z's slide (the hyperactive son of the bipolar rabbi with the beleaguered wife). Now, there has been a straggly and weedy locust sapling taking root under the slide and playset in their yard. Jon decided that it would be a friendly gesture if he cut it out of there, since it was starting to obscure the ladder and slide, and making the yard look really dingy (well, dingier). Since Reb Bipolar left last week, and Rebbitzin Beleaguered is here on her own with Hyperactive Son while trying to remove five years of just plain clutter and dirt from their house in time for the movers to arrive this coming Wednesday, and since she has had no help whatsoever from the Bipolar one or her son, Destructo, and they have had no bites on the house, we were trying to be helpful.

Well. Turns out that was Z's TREE. His very own tree (straggly stray sapling) that he was growing and nurturing under the slide. So we traumatized him irreparably. So now I feel obligated to go over there tomorrow morning and help her continue with the cleaning/packing/decluttering. I might as well, anyway, because I DON'T HAVE A FUCKING WALLET, WHICH MEANS I DON'T HAVE A FUCKING CREDIT CARD, CASH, DRIVERS' LICENSE or anything else that makes life worth living.

Fuuuuuuuuuuuck.

We took Gretchen and her dh and son out to dinner, then went to the park and played until after sundown, so as to avoid our neighbors. Gretchen has literally saved my life -- I honestly do not know how I would survive without her. If I have to be in this town, at least I was given one of the best friends I've ever had as some kind of cosmic compensation.

I also felt nearly suicidal while we were searching for the wallet because without it, I really can't go do anything and I need to get away SO BADLY.

On a more positive note, I talked by phone with Kevin M. (see earlier post somewhere where I mention him). He sounds just like his old self, except sober, and still has the same sense of humor. I am so glad I was able to reconnect with him. Having old friends come back into my life has been one good thing that seems to be stemming partly from this horrific tragedy we've experienced.

I know this will sound weird, but I am starting to wonder if Hannah didn't have something to do with the wallet disappearing.

Several things that were missing before she died, that were important to her, turned up at different times after she was gone. And I've had some things go temporarily missing here that just as mysteriously would turn back up, in a different place than I had remembered leaving them.

Gretchen thought maybe it was a possibility that if I had had my wallet and gone on my planned outing, something bad may have happened. On the other hand, as I pointed out to her, if I had been able to do that, we wouldn't have chopped down the hyperative child's tree (weed) and possibly sowed the seed for a future Unabomber or Sasser-virus creator.

I suck, I know. I shouldn't use his particular condition as a way to make some kind of snarky remark. But fuck it, for right now -- I am just so fucking frustrated, upset, and fucked up, that I'm just going to do it, and be damned.