Are you asleep yet?
back when i was booking shots for my luddite boss who refused the concept of a DC, i'd regularly wake up in the middle of the night with transposition night terrors.
Left the field book full of notes laying in a road ditch one late afternoon. About 10:00 p.m. I went looking for it and could not find it. Thought and thought and thought some more and realized the last time I definitely remembered seeing it was when I dropped it in the grass while rolling the tape after taking several references on a quarter corner monument. It was snowing heavily with very wet snow, so I bundled up, hopped in the vehicle and drove to where I had last seen it. It was there under about two inches of very wet snow. I was able to shake off most of the snow and put it near the car heater for drying on the trip back home. Thankfully the ink did not run. Yes, ink. I always work in ink. Don't tell the survey gods who insist pencil only should be used with no erasures.
It happened to me exactly as Wendell's cartoon. Went back and got it in my PJ's at midnight.
Don't get me started. Left my base station right next to the road. Woke up out of a sound sleep and remembered it. Got up bright and early raced out there and it was still sitting there sending out data. Wasted a lottery buying day!
I once did a little job in Daly City (just south of San Francisco), wrapped up in time to get on the road home (hour and half with light traffic, which only happens in a narrow mid-day window) and headed to another little job a few miles from my office. Got out the gun, went to grab the prism pole and to my horror remembered that I left it leaned up against a building wall in Daly City. Packed up, and with a mournful dread headed back to Daly City to fetch the pole and prism. 2-1/2 hours there and 2-1/2 hours back, mostly through heavy slow-and-go traffic.
It would have made financial sense to just leave it there and buy a new pole and prism, but I get attached to my tools and usually end up customizing them in some fashion. And I hate losing things. The torturous drive was my way of punishing myself for being forgetful.