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.