Huh. Must've left credit cards, driver's license, and money at home. Which was weird, because I remembered seeing them on the end table before stuffing the business card in my pocket.
The nice person at the booth said I should go up to one of the organizers, tell him I was with the band, and ask for water. I did, and we were up and running.
When I got home later that day, the first thing I did was check for my cards and cash. They weren't where I left them. I tore that area of my bedroom apart. No dice. Retraced my steps in the house, the driveway, the car, back to Brandi Fenton Park ... Nope.
Defeated, I called the credit card companies. The good news: no activity on any of the cards that day. So they probably weren't stolen. I had a hunch they were still somewhere in the house, and they'd turn up eventually. But I couldn't exactly wait the six months I thought it would take for that to happen. I cancelled my cards and figured that would be the end of it for a while.
The next day I did laundry. Cards and cash fell out of Friday's pair of jeans.
Usually that's the first place I check. I hadn't because I'd been so sure I'd seen them on the end table. Instead, I must have seen them not on the table, assumed I'd already pocketed them, and confabulated a memory of seeing them there.
Anyway. The gig itself went off without a hitch. Great cause. Beautiful day. Once again, I wish I could be spending all of my time doing music. I can do music. I'm not all that good at activities of daily living.
Thanks to Don Martin for the photo. I noticed him there with the camera while we were playing and struck this pose for his benefit. In retrospect, it was an accurate representation of my mental state.