I found my passport.  I am actually so pissed off right now, I need to write this down.  

It was in a box I almost skipped — a small box with drafts of a contract I negotiated 18 months ago.  I had abandoned the passport search and moved on to looking for my birth certificate, so I knew there was no way I would find it in there.  Still, I methodically lifted page after page, about to abandon the whole lot to my recycling bin when it fell into my hands.  

I was actually mad.  I am still mad.  Slightly relieved, but mad.

How could I have been such an idiot?  Why had I not tossed all these draft agreements earlier?  How could I have been such an idiot?  Is it physically possible for me to kick my own ass.

Obviously, I am relieved, but my overwhelming emotion is not gratitude for the intercessions to Saints Anthony and Jude (although I am grateful, so thank you).  Instead, I just cannot believe I misplaced it.  I cannot believe I almost failed to find it.  I cannot believe I almost skipped that box.

Twenty minutes later . . . still mad at myself.