I finally had a really good look for my passport today. There’s the prospect of a lucrative if logistically difficult drive to Prague on the horizon. Plus who knows if I might suddenly have to jet off to foreign climes to do my job. Also, in the wet and dark, I wanted to have a little moment of triumph when I found it.
Hours of searching. Nothing. Just a vague memory of the thought “hmm that shouldn’t be there. Best put it somewhere safe.” Sod it.
It might be in the car for some reason. I’ll look tomorrow. If not, lost means lost when you’re in this flat. If it’s gone, it’s gonna show up eight years from now inside a sculpture when I accidentally drop it, or stuffed into the neck of an ornamental rabbit, or taped to the back of a photograph of a battleship. The only way to find it would be not to look for it. I’d be better off starting the process of reordering it before there’s a flood at the passport office as the airlines open up and everybody goes on their cheap flight to the sun.
Instead of searching further I’m going to walk away from the problem entirely. I’m off to Brighton tomorrow. I need to see Lou, and the sea. There’s a carpet going into the bedroom on Monday and I want to get out of here for a couple of days before that happens. Soon that room will be the peaceful haven I need. Maybe then I’ll find the passport. Maybe then. Before I leave I have to build my mini-studio and imitate my father into a microphone for a computer game. Then it’s out to the sea again, to the lonely sea and the sky.
It IS peaceful here, even with the clutter. But stuff makes noise. I’m constantly overstimulated by the sheer quantity of stories attached to all the items in my keep. 38 owls on overstacked shelves all staring at me as I write. Piles of important papers mixed up with telegrams that just showed up in a box of junk and are interesting. Winston Churchill and Hello Kitty and Nikolai Dante and a glass pelican and no passport.
At least I have a calling card. A showreel again that is new and feels new. These refreshes can help psychologically and it’s a good time for a refresh. I need to be able to think I’m doing everything in my power to get myself in the running for things. I do really hope I have a Eureka moment with the passport as it’ll be hanging over me until I find it that I can’t just jet off to Latvia tomorrow to replace poor Charlie after he threw that cameraman out of the window and lost the job.
It’s before midnight. I’m clean and in bed. This is an unfamiliar thing – my body must know I’m heading back into Lou-time. Sleep soon and maybe I’ll dream where the passport is. If not, the bedroom move and the following domino effect of stuff might lead to its discovery. Or I just bite the bullet, shred eighty quid and start the three week process. If I’d done that when I first noticed I couldn’t find it I’d almost have it by now. But… Eighty quid.
AlBarclay 