Gap in the record

I've misplaced a notebook. It's been missing for some days, and every day I keep thinking it'll turn up somewhere. I've looked for it in the usual places—various tote bags, purses where I might have put it, my work area—and find I'm rechecking the same places, unwilling to believe I've somehow lost it.

I've been using these notebooks for years. Daytimers makes them, and I buy them in packs of three. They fit nicely into a purse or backpack or even a pocket, and they've ended up being kind of an ongoing record of my day-to-day life. It's not a journal, and I don't treat it as such. I make lists in them, jot down things people tell me that I don't want to forget, note titles of books I want to read so that when I go to the library I can actually remember them, copy bits of writing or overheard conversations that strike me as funny or relevant. Here's what they look like:

The one on the left is the one I'm currently using. The right-hand one is from 2003; the note below the date says "Trinity backpack to John McPhee."

I'm oddly (or maybe not so oddly) disquieted that I can't find the one I've misplaced. The last time I definitely recall having it was Dec. 21st, when I copied my notes from it to my post "Notes from 30,000 feet." I haven't ransacked the house, but really, there aren't that many places it could be, and though I'm not the tidiest person on the planet, the place isn't so chaotic that finding something is an Augean stables kind of task. I keep thinking it'll turn up, keep hoping, anyway. There's a lot of my life in there that I don't like feeling has gotten detached from me.