"I can sing every lyric to an 80s pop song," she muttered to the empty room, "but I can't remember where I 'buried' my own life". It was as if her "small gray cells" were on a permanent coffee break.

She retraced her steps. Kitchen? No, just a cold cup of coffee sitting on top of the refrigerator. Living room? She found her TV remote inside the fruit bowl, but still no boot.

She walked into the kitchen for the third time, stopped dead, and realized she had absolutely no idea why she was there.

As she paced through the apartment, she realized she wasn't just looking for footwear anymore. She was looking for: