It's The Not That Counts

I'm sitting here.
I've been doing a fair amount of facefucking from the library these days due to staggering amounts of time between classes that I refuse to pass with actual school work.
Because I'm daft.
Yesterday. I have the option to hand in a paragraph (yes. Paragraph. That's about six sentences) for my Canadian class. But I cannot remember the parameters for what the paragraph should entail because I can't find my sylabus for the course.
In fact, I'm just missing one page. The page with the information. It's a two-page document, I'm sans necessary piece.
Of course I am.
I have an uncanny knack for having every piece of parchment that I've encountered in a two-month period stuffed into my clipboard, except for the single sheet that I need more than oxygen.
I wrote a group member's e-mail adress amongst my notes on the day I learned about Caesar crossing the Rubicon? Page 4? That's the only page I will be unable to find when it comes time to e-mail my group member to ask him when our assignment is due, and should we maybe get together.
So, it happens yesterday. Can't find this sheet.
Today, I come into the library, sit at the (very public) computer, and, after a few minutes, notice that the sylabus sheet is a few inches from me. On the (very public) desk.
Where I left it.
I don't do well with Ruebens, either.