Officially Now The Worst Weekend Ever:

Saturday night, in a fit of absolute fucking genius, I got up from the sandbox in the little parkette where I was sitting with Tinsley and forgot my bag. Normally, hell, it's just possessions and who the fuck cares, but this bag contained everything a person needs to be useful in a city and essentially the keys to my Ego. Talk to Freud about how to replace that.

Lost items include:

-cell phone
-driver's license
-health card
-bank card
-metropass
-birth control pills
-Y membership
-keys
-$20 in cash
-agenda with the phone numbers and addresses of everyone I know
-notebook with all the stupid quotes and things I heard since April
We Were the Mulvaneys by Joyce Carol Oates (half done)
-3 resumes and 3 cover letters (for jobs I didn't get)
-a hand-drawn map of Vancouver
-the purse itself, a cottage-y looking straw-type 6-pack carrier

I've never felt so stupid and useless in my life. Nor have I ever felt like such a twat for being so chained to things.