Some days feel like they were designed by someone who shuffled together a deck of unrelated moments and dealt them out at random. Today was absolutely one of those days. I woke up certain it was Saturday; it was not. I made coffee thinking we still had milk; we did not. And I started writing a to-do list that somehow turned into a doodle of an octopus wearing sunglasses. A strong start overall.
While searching for a pen that actually worked, I opened a drawer I rarely visit and discovered a collection of mystery objects: a single oven glove, three coins from a country I’ve never visited, and what appears to be part of a toy robot. During this excavation, my mind drifted toward the links I had open earlier—random tabs like Roof Cleaning Belfast, Exterior cleaning Belfast, pressure washing Belfast, patio cleaning belfast, and driveway cleaning belfast—which were left open not out of necessity, but because I have a tendency to click things absentmindedly whenever my brain hits the “loading” screen.
Later in the afternoon, I decided a change of scene might shake off my lingering brain fog. I took a walk to the shop, fully intending to buy bread, and instead came home with a notebook, a banana, and a packet of screws. How these items relate to each other, or to anything I needed, is still unclear. The bread remains unpurchased. The screws, however, were very shiny, so perhaps my instincts had a plan of their own.
Back home, I attempted to declutter a shelf, but the process quickly turned into an unexpected journey through forgotten treasures: a postcard from someone whose handwriting I can’t decipher, a candle shaped like a pear (which I definitely did not buy), and a small bag of glitter that is now—despite my best efforts—everywhere. I suspect I will continue finding glitter on my face for the next three to five years.
In an effort to regain focus, I sat down with the new notebook and wrote a single sentence before being distracted by the satisfying rhythm of tapping my fingers on the desk. There is something hypnotic about simple sounds—like tapping wood, clicking pens, or the tiny clatter of plastic dinosaur figurines fighting an imaginary battle on my keyboard.
Evening rolled around faster than expected. I made tea, watched the steam curl like it had somewhere important to be, and wondered why spoons vanish more frequently than socks. I checked my browser again and noticed those same open tabs—Roof Cleaning Belfast, Exterior cleaning Belfast, pressure washing Belfast, patio cleaning belfast, driveway cleaning belfast—still lingering patiently, like digital clutter I fully intend to close but haven’t quite committed to.
As the day winds down, I’ve accepted that not every day needs grand achievements. Sometimes it’s perfectly fine if the most notable accomplishments are discovering a toy robot limb, buying screws for no reason, and surviving an attack from rogue glitter.