You misplaced it in the welter of print-outs and post-it notes and library books all over your desk (and let’s be honest, the rest of your apartment as well). Then before you went out of town you did a frantic clean up job because you knew that if you came home to that mess it would depress you. “I started the new year in a midden!” you would have shouted silently inside your mind, feeling unhappy that you’re so disorganized while also feeling smart and all cosmopolitan for knowing the word midden from that time you lived in Scotland but the positive feelings would have curdled and you would have ended up not only being down about being disorganized but also you’d have started calling yourself pretentious and so on. It would have been a bad scene.

So you cleaned. And you found that copy of Capital v2 that you’d misplaced, and you put it someplace where you’d find it. Then your wife got the flu and spent all night throwing up and you got a terrible head cold that lasted about a week and a half, and you spent the day in an illness funk and the next day you went out of town. Somewhere in the interim – in the hundreds of miles and the thirty or so hours you spent in transit (all told) and all the family and the too short alcohol and video games and music and hugs and food time spent with some friends – you forgot where someplace was.

So you spent an inordinate part of the new year distressed that you couldn’t find the stupid book, not wanting to care that much about a book but you do and you remember when you found all three volumes at the Printers’ Row bookfair for five bucks and how awesome that was and your just the sort who gets wrapped in books, which is why you like that Calvino novel so much. You complain about the misplacedness and because this is what you do you make dumb jokes with your wife, teasing her about some wordplay based on pretending to mis-hear her or something like that, you don’t remember the details cuz you do it out of habit at this point, not even really listening as the words tumble out your mouth.

She picks up a die left on the table last night from when you were playing Chez Goth, one of your xmas gifts, and pretends to threaten to throw it at you. You flinch partly in jest but only partly because your the sort who flinches – at jokes, at threats, at threats made as jokes, in general – but hey it serves you sometimes, like this time because in the flinch you whip your eyes around and they fall on the spot in the middle of one of the jumbled bookshelves where you stuck the book.

THAT was “someplace”? THAT was the spot you put the book so you’d remember it’s location? Nice planning. Good thing you have such a helpful wife. You quickly decide to type a blog post about this because you know that the condition of having misplaced your copy of v2 of Capital is a common and deeply troubling one and because you are a lover of humanity you decide you must immediately do your part to help others ease this affliction. Contented now (admit it, though, part of that is the nice warm full feeling from those lovely fried potatoes with onion and bell pepper that you prepared for dinner, you’re gustatory as much or more than philanthropic in character), you make yourself and your lovely wife some tea.