The Irony Vortex

Treachery is afoot. My brain is out to get me.

I've finished writing my first book, and while that's out to the critique experts, I'm working on my second. This one will be more of a 'How-to' book than series of funny life stories.

I made tons of notes- I know I did- but can I find them? NOOOoooooo!

Hence, the Irony Vortex.

You know you've seen a certain object every day for the last year. In fact, the darn thing keeps getting in the way of everyday living. But then when you need the darn thing, and then it's nowhere to be found.

Finding them would imply that I'm organized. It took me a month to completely unpack a three-story house- except for one room, and that's where all my writing and crafting magic happens. that sucker took me a year to get right, because I needed a lot of shelves for all of my junk- I mean valuable assets. 
I have a sewing/crafting spot, and I have a writing spot. I had no idea just how many papers I had in piles tucked away in boxes until I unloaded everything. My carbon footprint would rival Bigfoot.

Yet I was diligent and sorted all this stuff into folders to see exactly what I had. And if I had enough notes, then I had a book. I have enough potential books to fill a library the size of a small state.

But this particular folder was the one I wanted to work on. I had been writing notes since the move 'last year' (it was Dec. 2012, so it's still only been a year and a month) and I know I put them in one spot.

But I can't find them.

Part of my brain is telling me that I just didn't look in the right place. The other part of my brain says I tossed the notes while decluttering, because no one would ever buy a book on that particular subject!

One part of my brain is hopeful that I just put the notes in an odd place- all I have to do it go over everything in my writing space. Everything. The other brain part is saying it's a lost cause, and try to remember what you wrote and rewrite the notes.

My brain is out to kill me.

I have two choices- one, I go through all of my notes in every folder, binder or anyplace else that can hold little slips of paper, or I have to depend on my one and a half brain cells to remember everything I did a little over a year ago. 

Dear Lord, hit me with a rampaging goat, because I don't want to do either!

I really, really hope I didn't toss the notes or that I can remember what I wrote down. Good thing that God has no trouble performing miracles, because if He wants me to write this thing, I'm going to need His help!

And we all know what will happen when I finish this book, don't we? I'll find all those wonderful little notes right in front of my nose just as I send the book to a publisher!

Oh Irony Vortex, why do you trouble me so?