Yesterday I lost my wallet.  I cancelled my cards and ordered new ones (even my cafe loyalty card), lamented the fact that there was $50 in cash in there, plus the money it’d cost to replace the cards, which would all add up to almost $100.  Given that I’ve just returned from three weeks of spending Euros, this was not a comforting thought.

Yesterday, I also couldn’t find an important bank statement that I need for tax time.  Ah tax time – they say you can be sure of two things in life: death and taxes. You can also be sure that death means avoiding taxes, so somebody please kill me so I won’t have to sort through 7000 receipts hidden in the corners and crevices of my “home office” (read: in, around, and under my bed).

Instead of entering the information I did have into excel – ie: doing something constructive - I spent more than half the evening looking for that one thing. In the end, I discovered the statement could be printed off at the bank for $7. Small price to pay for retaining a shred of sanity.

Then, last night, I found both my wallet and the missing statement.

Most of the time, I enjoy my natural, childlike sense of chaos.  This was not one of those occasions.