For want of a horseshoe nail

For want of a nail the shoe was lost. 
For want of a shoe the horse was lost. 
For want of a horse the rider was lost. 
For want of a rider the message was lost. 
For want of a message the battle was lost. 
For want of a battle the kingdom was lost. 
And all for the want of a horseshoe nail.

This ancient proverb has been going through my head the past few days. Only this is my actual version:

For want of a box of dryer sheets my ziploc bag is lost.
For want of a ziploc bag my laundry card is lost.
For want of a laundry card my floor is lost.
For want of a floor my organization is lost.
For want of organization my sanity is lost.
For want of sanity I'm lost.
And all for the want of a box of dryer sheets.

When I moved into this apartment, the complex gave me a card which is used instead of cash in the laundromat. Within a few months I (or one or more of my cats) had misplaced the card. Eventually, after repeated unsuccessful attempts to find the card, I slinked into the office to get a new one. It cost $10, plus whatever amount I wanted to put on it. Sigh.

Cringing my teeth, I wrote the check.

Since one of the prominent traits of my ADD is the inability to keep up with things unless they have a definite home, I came up with the brilliant idea to store the laundry card with my detergent and dryer sheets. I put the dryer sheets and the card in a gallon-sized plastic storage bag. Even closed tightly, the bag emanated the distinct scent of flowery-rainy-cottony freshness. Now, I thought, there's no way I'll lose it. And even if I do, I'll be able to find it by the smell alone.

I haven't done laundry in about seven weeks.

Except about two loads I washed in the bathtub.

And I don't even have the fresh scent of the dryer sheets to stuff in my not-quite-dirty-enough jeans.

I live alone with my kittehs, who are absolutely rotten and too smart for their own good, but I doubt they were able to hide the gallon-size bag with the dryer sheets beyond my senses of both sight and smell. Although, it is possible, I suppose, that they shredded the bag, scattered the dryer sheets under some furniture, and rolled around on them until the smell was thoroughly dispersed, and then disposed of the shredded plastic. And, somehow, they did this in less than one day, on a day I happened to be out of the house long enough for the particular chemical changes to occur which would render the evidence undetectable.

Nah. I must have buried it under something else by mistake in my decluttering frenzy.

Oh shoot, decluttering! I wonder if I didn't accidentally throw it away! That's what I get for getting organized. See? This is why I don't clean. If I didn't clean, I'd still have a laundry card and therefore would have clean laundry and a clear floor and I wouldn't have to clean.

Yes, I admit it. I have a problem. But I'm not messy. I'm just domestically challenged!