I may be losing my mind.

(Stop cackling. This is serious.)

Really. First, all last weekend, I was ransacking my apartment to find my missing watch. I remembered taking it off to put on hand lotion before going to bed on Friday night, and when I realized I wasn't wearing my watch on Saturday morning I looked on my bed for it. Then I remembered that, also before falling asleep on Friday night, I had shaken out my duvet (while I was under it) to spread it out more evenly (that's a comforter for the less metrosexual males among you), so I figured I must have inadvertently flung my watch across my bedroom in the process, kind of like the way an unfolded parachute can bounce things around when held on its edges by a number of people spread around the perimeter. I searched the entire room, repeatedly, to no avail. Then I accused the cat of stealing my watch to play her little kitty games, which she vehemently denied, and I looked in all her usual favorite toy spots anyway, also to no avail. At one point I idly wondered if I might have taken my watch off at work on Friday while putting on lotion (hey, I told you my skin is DRY!), but I knew without a single doubt that I had removed that watch while lying in bed on Friday night before going to sleep (I could visualize it), so there was no point dwelling on it. I just kept looking under and inside of every single freaking thing in my bedroom, my closet, my living room, my shoes, my piles of crap ... everywhere. But, no watch. And while the watch I've been wearing lately isn't the only watch I own, nor is it the most expensive watch I own, or even the one with the most sentimental value, it also wasn't cheap and I really, really like it -- and the two extra watchbands that came with it are of absolutely no value to me without the watch itself.

So I pretty much accepted (unhappily) the fact that the watch probably wouldn't turn up until I move out of this apartment. And then, naturally, the watch turned up. Where? On my desk. At work. On Monday morning. Where I was absolutely positive I hadn't left it.

Shut up.

Second bit of proof that I might be losing my mind: My staff identification card from my place of employment went missing about a week ago. I used it to swipe into a secure area in my building, placed the card in the pocket of my slacks, and then never saw it again. When I got home that night, I checked my pockets and it was gone. (No holes in the pockets. I checked. Many, many times.) I checked my purse, my wallet, and everything else I was carrying, but it wasn't there. I was afraid it might have dropped out of my pants pocket when I dropped trou' in the ladies' room at work that day. The next day, I checked my desk but it wasn't there. I asked colleagues if they had seen it, but they hadn't. I asked the maintenance guy who cleans the bathrooms, but he hadn't seen it. I checked every drawer, pocket, corner, and nook, but no staff ID card. That fucker costs about 30 bucks to replace, but it mostly pissed me off that I must have dropped it somewhere in the building where I work, yet no one had returned it to me. It would be easy enough for someone to look me up in the staff directory and find out exactly where I work in order to call me or send it via interoffice mail, but no one did that.

Over a week after the ID card disappeared, just after I found the "missing" watch, I was looking for something in my wallet and I looked one more time for my staff ID card. Guess what I found? My fucking staff ID card, that's what.

But maybe I'm not losing my mind. If this was a movie, it would be someone trying to make me THINK I'm losing my mind, right? I mean, just because I'm paranoid doesn't mean the aliens aren't out to get me. So here's the thing: I left a million dollars on my kitchen table this morning. If it's not still there when I get home, I will know for sure that something fishy is going on ....

It's itchy boob season again.

And itchy legs and back and belly season, too. The back is the worst, though, especially when you're single like me. Oh, sweet Moses, my back itches like the spawn of Santa sometimes, and I contort into painful, uh, contortions to try to reach all the trouble spots. Last night I was rubbing up against the doorjamb of my bedroom before going to sleep because I just. could. not. stand it anymore.

I get so jealous of my kitty at times like that. Just about every night she gets a full-body scratch-down, the lucky little furball, courtesy of yours truly ... but who is there to take care of my needs, I ask you? Olivia could help, if she really wanted to, but she's a self-possessed cat, as cats so often are. I ask her, very nicely, to walk on my back while I lie on my stomach. Her long claws would do wonders for my itching, I think to myself. She looks at me, slightly raising her brow into what looks like a quizzical expression. I pick her up with one arm, hold her beside me as I lie down on my tummy and place her on my lower back. "Walk," I say. She immediately scampers away.

Ten minutes later we have resumed our positions. "Walk," I say. She settles down to lie on my bum, head up, looking at me looking over my shoulder at her. She stretches her mouth wide into a jaw-cracking yawn. Such nerve in a young cat.

I am too itchy to contemplate the disrespectfulness of my furry charge for long. "Please," I very nearly beg, "knead my back, like you do to the fleece throw on the couch." She makes a noise that sounds almost like a cry, but still doesn't move. She probably wants me to bring her dinner to her, right here on the bed, or to give her a good scratching, but I won't give. Not yet. Not tonight. I am too fucking itchy.

"Walk," I say. "Or knead. Whichever, or both, but do something. Please."

"Meow," says she, and stands up. "Good girl," I say. "Yes!"

She walks up my spine and up onto my right shoulder, then nuzzles my ear. "Good girl, Livvy," I whisper. "Walk on mama's back, would you please?" I can feel her purring before I hear it. Mmmm, I think to myself. This just might work.

Olivia walks across my shoulder blades, pauses to nuzzle the hair over my other ear, and then I feel her push off my left shoulder. Crap! I think, in that split second before I hear the thunk as her semi-heft hits the hardwood and she's gone. I rest my head against the pillow and absently scratch my hip.

Quiz blatantly ripped off from Beth.

Happy New Year, my friends!

First, a bit of sad news for those of you in the Boston area: Columnist Donald M. Murray has passed away at age 82. My parents always read his "Over 60" column when I was a kid and would often point out or clip noteworthy entries, so I got in the habit of reading and enjoying his writing many years ago. Every time I would begin to read one of his columns, purportedly about life after age 60 (in recent years, it was renamed "Now and Then"), I would think it couldn't possibly be relevant to my life at twenty-, thirty-, or now forty-something. But every single time, Don Murray spoke to my heart from his. He wrote about his life, whether it was about finding inspiration for his writing itself, or the love he had for his wife and daughters, or how painful it was to see his wife waste away as a result of Parkinson's disease or, most recently, how his dear Minnie Mae's death in 2005 and his ensuing depression were affecting his life. To a non-reader of Murray, this probably sounds as though his columns were a morose collection, but the opposite was always true; Don Murray wrote frankly and directly about real and, sometimes, painful things, but he never failed to find beauty and strength in pain and to offer (to my mind and heart, at least) inspiration to go on. Farewell, Mr. Murray, and rest in peace with your beloved Minnie Mae. My sincere condolences to Murray's surviving daughters, friends, and extended family.

Okay, with that sad news out of the way, let's focus for just a moment on being grateful for the end of 2006, a year that saw some rough times in the public arena -- high death tolls in war zones and politicians who didn't seem to understand what their constituents wanted, among other things -- and a mix of personal circumstances for the people I love. I'm asking you to join me in approaching 2007 with high hopes -- for the safe return of our troops overseas as soon as realistically possible; for the inaugurations and swearing-in of all those legislators we elected in November and for their fast, effective, and committed approach to the issues they claimed to believe in; and for the good health and good fortune of each and every one of you, your families and your friends. Whether 2006 was a good year for you or not, may 2007 be better yet.