Here goes

My attempt to being original, witty, funny, fresh and young at this age.

It's interesting how the body reacts to pangs of panic, surges of anxiety.

Losing my parking card meant hell at home, to work and at work.
The parking card is
1. my life
2. my sanity
3. my all.
I know it sounds sad but it seems to be the truth
that was so cruelly revealed to me today.

Frantically searching through my bag, the bag that I had just cleaned (not that it was that dirty) and organized (whose bag is all the time?) for that white hard card.
The proud feeling I had for being so organized before work was short lived.
So rudely taken away when I realized my parking card was not in it.

Not one to panic so easily as panicking would usually result in this sensation I feel right at the exit point, I consoled myself.
"Oh yeah, sure, it's in the car".

Walking calmly and as cool as my cat after she had squirted somewhere she's not supposed to, I grabbed my keys, opened the car door and put my swimming bag on the passenger's seat, hoping that the card would be in there.
To my dismay and surprise, it wasn't. Empty satchel. The very satchel my dad gave to prevent something like this to happen.
And yes, this wasn't the first time.

Learning from experience, I searched under the driver's seat hoping that the card would be gleaming. But no gleam.
I lifted up all the car mats. Nope still no gleam.

So ok so, maybe it was in the bag and I missed it. I threw everything in the bag onto my bed, looked through my wallet, went in between the 3 puzzle books I always have in my bag. No, no gleam. Need gleam.

Ah yes, maybe while shaking the bag to get rid of all the trash into the dust bin, the card must have fell off into the bin without me realizing.
Tipped the dust bin, spilling all my rubbish, went through all the crap in there. Nope not there.

This is when my sweat glands, especially near the arm pit area, get triggered to produce this bodily fluid that usually signals "Nurul, you're in deep s***t"

Ok, keep it cool. Knowing you, you must have not looked properly with your eyes.
Went back to the car, and start trashing everything around.
Can't lose this card, can't lose this card.
Again, nothing.

Went back into the room to look at the bag, wallet, books, trash can. Still no sign.
Breathe in, breathe out. Retrace, retrace.

Oh no, I'm gonna have to pay 200 bucks for this damn card.

Back to the car, looking at every crevice that is possible. Even in the glove compartment? where I NEVER put the card. Surely Nurul, you're getting desperate.
This was the point, when I was grateful that I had remembered to put on the deodorant.

Alright, so this is it. God is punishing me. I have lost my parking card. Now how do I get to work. Do I just call a cab? Ask my dad who's still in his pagoda t shirt, having his breakfast, a pensioner who hates wait loathes to drive in traffic.
Ok so cab it is.

Calmly as I can however not as dry, I say "I lost my parking card" to my dad. And his reaction was as expected, the high pitched voice, bulging red eyes (ok maybe not red I'm exaggerating) and the demand to know where I put the card.
Which usually is exactly the question I've been perspiring about.
Adults and their questions sometimes blows my mind away.

So I say, I'll call the cab and start reaching for my house keys. And there it was
Gleaming, somewhat mocking me. On the floor. By the stairs.

MY PARKING CARD, MY LIFE, MY SANITY, MY ALL.

I felt my muscles relaxing, my sweat ducts clearing and my heart doing its joy dance.
To which I go "Oh there it is"
and drove away.

Ahhhhhhhhhh

Item of the day
PARKING CARD