I have my rituals.
The television goes off, I get the dogs snack, I fill my cup with ice and fizzy water, and I sit down to do some thought clearing exercise (play phone games for 10 minutes) and then I write.
And tonight was no different.
There I was, approaching my work station with my water in one hand, my bowl of veggies in the other (my snack!) when suddenly Mate springs into action.
“Where’s your checkbook?” He’s digging through my purse. “Here, find it!”
“Is it in the car?”
“It might be in my yarn ba–“
“Here, take your sunglass case.”
“Put your sunglasses in it so they don’t get lost. Is the checkbook in your purse?”
“So that thing you just did–“
“Where you gave me two specific things to do at the same time.”
“That doesn’t work for me.”
“I’m sorry. Do you want me to go outside and get the checkbook? Where is it? Any ideas?”
“Uh… between… the thing… and the thing… and the–“
He disappears and I have a FUCKING SECOND to think. When he comes back I am going through my yarn bag, and I produce–go figure–the checkbook.
“Good, okay–” And then he pushes a button on his keys, and his phone goes off. Neither of us knows where.
We scramble madly to find the phone–tearing apart the couch, upending blankets, running back and forth from the kitchen and down the hallway–and finally he lifts the right cushion and there it is.
“Uh…” I say. All the words–ALL THE WORDS– have shorted out in my brain.
“Go on. Sit down. Do your thing.”
He turns on the TV.
“Could we turn that down?”
“Sure.” He turns it off. The dogs whine. They have forgotten they’ve had snacks. I get them snacks, sit down again, and try to concentrate.
What was I doing again?