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.
