OK OK OK … I’m OK now. I found my wallet. It was in my bag, in the inside zipped section. It wasn’t stolen, the way I thought it was. It’s not in the hands of some shithead who grabbed it from my bag even though I held it so close to my body that it may as well have been welded to my hip. It’s here, it’s here, it’s here.
I’m just glad I found it so relatively soon after having thought it was stolen (no, not lost — I went, as I always do, on auto-panic, and immediately assumed it was STOLEN, FUCKING STOLEN GODDAMMIT, PEOPLE FUCKING SUCK!). This means I didn’t have to look in the freezer, under the bed, in the dryer, and inside the cat’s stomach.
But still, I’m upset. I mean, I missed a perfectly good opportunity to call myself all sorts of really nice names for having had my wallet STOLEN STOLEN STOLEN. Now I’m going to have to find another reason to do so. My day will not be complete until I do.