Insanity, temporary

Perhaps I am getting old. Last Monday I received a substantial refund check from the IRS. We're talking five fat figures. If you're wondering how it is that I managed to overestimate my tax liability to such an astonishing degree, send me a note and I'll tell you.

But this story begins with this check and my last minute preparations to travel to New York for Thanksgiving. My goal had been to deposit this and other checks before getting on the commuter rail on Wednesday morning to travel to South Station, where I'd board the Lucky Star bus to Manhattan's Chinatown. For just $15 one way, non-stop except for a short break at the Century Buffet in Connecticut, I'll sacrifice legroom. But I didn't make it to the bank on Tuesday or on Wednesday morning, and so I traveled to New York with many checks, totalling many many dollars, on my person. The IRS check I had tucked into my wallet. The other checks, from jewelry customers, I had zipped into an inside pocket of my purse.

I was vaguely aware of the stupidity of doing this - what if they were to get lost? But, I told myself, I don't lose things. I'm a careful person, a savvy traveler, someone who is alert to what is happening around her. I am an ex-New Yorker, after all!

During my trip I used my credit card for many transactions - purchasing a metro card, a small gift, dinner at a sushi bar, some socks at a mouth watering boutique in SoHo, and a pair of luscious lime green velveteen pants at Filene's basement. And I also used most of my stash of cash, next to which I had tucked my still unendorsed IRS check, for other things: visits to a few cafes, food at the Chinese buffet where our bus stopped in Connecticut, a rare deal on a sweater and, finally, a cab ride home from South Station. I had planned to take the commuter rail but had missed the 6pm train and didn't want to wait for more than 2 hours for another. Dehydrated, fatigued, body aching and eager to get home, I decided to splurge.

As we drove down the Mass Turnpike my eyes glanced at the signage inside the cab. Be sure to write down the taxi's number to help us find lost items, one of them said, or something to that effect.

The driver pulled up to my house and I used most of the rest of my cash to pay the fare, which cost nearly as much as my roundtrip bus ticket to New York. It was dark, I was tired, and I quickly counted out a few bills.

A few hours later, after I had had a chance to relax and drink some tea, I unpacked my bags. My anxiety rose when I couldn't find a necklace I had worn earlier that day but had tossed into my purse when I was trying on some clothing. Panicked, I dumped the contents of my purse and my shoulder bag, into which I had squeezed pajamas, socks, underwear, toiletries, two sweaters, an extra pair of pants, a silk sleeping sack, an organza bag with jewelry, books, a camera and snacks of crystallized ginger and dried cranberries. Still no necklace.

And that is when I discovered my customers' checks, still safely zipped into the interior pocket of the purse. I had forgotten all about them. I then opened my wallet to retrieve the IRS check and discovered that it was gone. Where there had once been a thick wad of cash now remained just a ten dollar note, a five dollar bill and a single.

I was too stunned to cry.

I sat on the floor in my hallway, my stomach both heavy and hollow, trying to imagine how it had vanished. Did it flutter to the floor when I pulled out two dollar bills to pay for my final NYC subway ride? Did it sneak into the tip I left for the waitress at Le Pain Quotidien? Did I hand it to the Boston cab driver as I stumbled out of his poorly lit taxi, eager to be home?

My mind latched onto the taxi man as the most likely scenario.

Would he turn it in? What if he tried to look up my phone number but couldn't because I don't have a landline? Would he mail it to me, or let it sit around gathering dust until I called to collect it? Or would he call the local papers to get the word out, and everyone in the greater Boston area would know what an idiot I was for walking around with this check? I looked on the receipt that the taxi driver had given me for any sort of identifying information, such as a license number or name of his taxi company. There was none. Why hadn't I written it down when I was in the cab? Why hadn't I just gone to the bank when I was supposed to? And why on earth hadn't I simply checked the box for direct deposit on my tax return, avoiding this fiasco altogether?

Recognizing that such self-beating wouldn't return the check any faster, I tried to clear my head and went to the IRS website. They do assist taxpayers with lost refunds, meaning checks that never arrive. There was no section or FAQ for people who receive the check and then lose it. They could call this section "Losers".

Still dumbstruck and deflated, I went into my kitchen to make some more tea. And there, on one of the counters, was the necklace that I thought I had lost. I must have taken it out of my purse when I got home, even though I had no recollection of performing that action. The sight of the necklace was heartening. Maybe I wasn't losing my mind completely. Maybe I was able to keep track of things to some degree.

I resumed the search for the check. Was it possible that, like the necklace, it was right in front of me but I had overlooked it? Again, I picked through the clump of receipts and papers that were nesting in my wallet, straightening them and sorting them. There were receipts for postage, for gasoline and for my NY cafe visits and clothing deals. But there was no check. Heading over to my desk, I noticed another stack of receipts. Was it possible that I had actually left the check at home, even though I could have sworn it was on my person?

As I flipped through this new wad of papers, the check - folded in half - fell onto my desk. I must have emptied my wallet of some of its contents before my trip, but without realizing that the check was in that pile. I felt a kind of sobering relief. I had found the check but had temporarily lost my mind.