Last week I noticed my paper journal was missing. I looked for it, but couldn't find it. Not in my purse, not in the messy tote bag I take to work (another story), not in the car, not in my bedroom, not any of the rooms in the house. Not here or there or anywhere. 

I chose not to panic, though I could have left it at work. This would be bad, because I have ranted about my lazy co-worker in said journal. I looked at work. Nope. 

I continued to choose not to panic. 

On Friday afternoon, my phone rang. It was Ted. 

"Were you at Steel City Coffee in Phoenixville last week?" 

"Yes, why?"

"They have your journal. You should go pick it up." 

Fortunately, at some point, I had written Ted's cell phone number in my journal. 

I picked it up today, breathless, embarrassed, and grateful. 

As I walked out, past the itinerant teenagers, I thought, 

Aaaaaannnd... SCENE.