I made sure all three cats, who come in at different times for breakfast and try to arrange things so that at least one cat gets to eat twice, had food. I took out a pan to make hot cereal, absently scrubbed it, and put it in the rack to drain. Toast? No. The computer beckoned. On the way to the computer I noted that the baggies of jewelry completed and jewelry in progress had not put themselves away, and stirred through them once again. A pink and grey glass one beckoned, telling me it only needed the right tiny round bead between the pink glass and it would be happy. A quick rummage through the seed beads produced a bead soup mix which might or might not have the precise bead I needed, but I was dizzy and sat down in front of the computer.
After clearing the spam from 3 accounts and reading gleanings on Facebook, I faced the evil moment: eat or feel worse. Veggie omelet. The saucepan was clean but wet, the olive oil was on the counter instead of the pantry. Onions and green pepper with celery leaves were chopped and dropped in the pan with 1 tsp olive oil. A cat wanted out, and I followed her. The seedlings in the garden had been covered with grass clippings.
Seedlings cleared, I thought of searching the garage for the new caulking gun, used only once on a too-strenuous attempt to seal cracks in the driveway. I knew I had three minutes for the veggies to soften. Sanity prevailed and I returned to the kitchen, where I had not turned on the burner. After a minute, the scent of dishwashing soap wafted gently from the pan. Phooey. It hadn't been rinsed enough. I chopped more onions, this time with more rush than precision. I tossed a handful of shredded cheese in on top. These would overpower the flavor of dishwashing soap, especially if I timed things right.
I did time things right. Omelet consumed, pan loaded into dishwasher, I contemplated the list of abandoned tasks. The table top needs clearing, and the box containing the last table top scrapings is still full. On the table is a box lid containing goodies from a friend. A tiny cellophane bag of sequins has burst, spreading its delights. Naturally, these are the tiny metallic stars that I want to use on a doll costume. They must be picked up with the tip of a pin. Time consuming.
My time would be better spent searching for the caulking gun so I can repair the caulking. Last week I ran out of caulking and there are thin spots where water, if it were so inclined, might slip through and eventually reach the kitchen ceiling and cause a disaster. I've limited myself to 3-minute showers and mopped the walls and tub, but my hair is dirty. Waist-length hair can't be washed in 3 minutes. Wet, sure. Washing takes 20 minutes, and I'm sure that 20 minutes of wet will spell trouble. Seek caulking gun. The new tube of caulk is upstairs in the bathroom.