I'm a forgetful person. You could say that I can be a little absent-minded from time to time. Probably it comes from my dad. That guy is always forgetting little things. It could also be the booze, but it's probably mostly genetic.
This absent-mindedness has become quite evident the more time I spend with The Boy I Currently Like at his house. I forget shit at his house all. the. damn. time. At first, it was just my water bottle. I'd get home and it would still be sitting on the floor, just out of sight, next to the couch or the chair. And it would be there the next time I came over. Sometimes I'd remember it on my own, sometimes he'd tell me.
It became something of a running joke between us -- he decided I was taking a cue from George Costanza, and leaving things behind so I'd have an excuse to come back to his place. I preferred to think I was more like Manny Black Books. Granted, I didn't start this until we'd known each other for a year, but that is beside the point.
It should be noted I never forgot anything at his old apartment. Or if I ever did, I certainly didn't want it back. The chances of ever finding it on a return visit were slim to none. And quite frankly, if I did find it, I would probably rather have just thrown it away than take it home.
He's benefited from some of the things I've left behind. He only had a single pillow on his bed until I forgot mine there. Okay, I benefit from that one, too. He also now has a vegetable brush, because I was forward-thinking enough to figure I might need one to clean the blue potatoes from my CSA box for breakfast a couple of weeks ago. However, I was not forward-thinking enough to actually put it back with my things to take it home with me later that day. Though, I swore that I dried it off and put it back in my bag.
Tonight, I had a mini panic attack because I thought I'd forgotten my corkscrew there yesterday. Of course, I meant to buy one this weekend for him, but it slipped my mind with all the car drama. It was kind of mean of me, but I let him worry a bit the day I came back from Portland and essentially went straight to his place. He'd bought a couple of bottles of wine for me, because he thought I might not have had time to get any, since I'd been out of town. Very sweet and very thoughtful, I know. So, of course, I had to be an asshole and ask, "Did you find your corkscrew?"
Recently, I've started leaving clothes there. I swear to you -- it is completely unintentional. Or, if it is intentional, it's buried so deep in my subconscious that I can't get to it. I think the reason is twofold. First, since I'm hanging out for like, eight or nine hours, I've started bringing at least a shirt (and clean underwear, of course) to wear the next morning. When I was showing up in the wee hours of the morning, that sort of thing wasn't necessary.
The second reason is because it is damn near impossible for me to see my black or gray t-shirt, all crumpled up somewhere in the mess of clothes strewn about is his bedroom. So really, IT'S ALL HIS FAULT. Either way, it comes home with me next time I'm there, so it's okay.