Manic Monday or "It's not my fault"

I have always been the sort of person who plans and prepares for what lies ahead. I try as hard as I can to do whatever I can to eliminate as much stress from my day to day life.

PT is not. Without fail every single solitary morning he gets angry and stressed about something. He can't find this, where is that, what did I do with the other thing.

This morning, after being off of work for three solid days he's once again running around like a chicken with no head pissed and angry.

Item number one was that the pharmacy filled the wrong script for him yesterday. He didn't think to check it and when they called they gave him a long name for the drug and he didn't know what they were talking about. (this is also called "It's not my fault")

Item number two was that he couldn't find anything in the drawer we keep the scripts in because "You have so many bottles in here and it's so unorganized"

What's this now? I have so many bottles in there?

"ONE of those is mine"(said in an "you cannot be serious with that statement"tone)
"No, more than one is yours" (said in a angry stressed, flustered, late for work tone also known as "It's not my fault")
"Okay, if you say so" (said in a "you cannot be serious dude" tone)
SEVEN script bottles
ONE is mine. SIX are his.

Item number three was that he cannot find his sunglasses.
Where were they last?
On the counter where he left them after going to get breakfast over the weekend. (Saturday morning)
"Well, maybe if you put them where they belong we wouldn't have this issue"
"Oh please, this place is such a shithole"(standard response also known as "It's not my fault")

Now this last item is rather serious beacuse we cannot find his sunglasses. They are nowhere. He thinks they might have gotten thrown in the garbage.
I asked him if he put them in the Dunkin Donuts bag. He said no. Then I'm sure they are not in the garbage. (only I'm not really so sure beacuse around here much stranger things have happened)
He KNOWS that when he empties his pockets his stuff goes in the bin I have just for his stuff.It's safe and sound and secure in there.In that white box the swirling vortex of chaos that resides on my kitchen counters does not exist. You put things in that box and they stay there.
The counter is like the wild west. Cattle rustlers are always on the loose

So my morning is going to be spent playing Nancy Drew hunting for those sunglasses that he can't find and somehow it's my fault that they are lost...