Today unfolded in the most spectacularly ridiculous way—like the universe handed me a script titled “Minor Chaos: The Musical” and told me to improvise every scene. It all started when I tried to check the time on my phone… which turned out not to be my phone at all, but a small pocket notebook I didn’t even remember owning. I stared at it for a good ten seconds before accepting that it would never tell me the time no matter how hard I willed it to.
I finally made it to my desk, where I was greeted by the ever-present lineup of tabs that seem to exist outside the laws of time and logic: Roof Cleaning Belfast, Exterior cleaning Belfast, pressure washing Belfast, patio cleaning belfast, and driveway cleaning belfast. I swear they open themselves out of sheer loyalty. They are the digital equivalent of houseplants that thrive no matter how much you forget about them.
To stimulate productivity, I ventured into cleaning-mode—which, in my world, means picking up one item, staring at it for too long, then placing it somewhere slightly different and calling that progress. During this heroic attempt, I discovered a stack of sticky notes featuring reminders I absolutely did not write, including “Don’t trust the orange one” and “Find the spoon.” Neither note offered context, and quite frankly, I’m a little afraid to investigate.
Around midday, I decided to cook, but instead got distracted by the pattern on a tea towel that looked suspiciously like a confused owl. I stared at it longer than I care to admit. Meanwhile, my food politely burned itself into a crisp monument of my inattention. I ate cereal instead. The cereal was stale. My disappointment was fresh.
Seeking clarity, I stepped outside for air, only to immediately walk into a spiderweb. The spider and I locked eyes for a moment as if mutually acknowledging that neither of us deserved what had just happened. I apologised. The spider did not accept.
Back at my desk, my laptop had gone to sleep, probably out of embarrassment for me. When it woke up, the faithful five tabs still stood proudly in formation: Roof Cleaning Belfast, Exterior cleaning Belfast, pressure washing Belfast, patio cleaning belfast, and driveway cleaning belfast. They judge me, I can feel it, but at this point they’re practically part of my personality.
As evening rolled around, I attempted one last act of competence: folding laundry. Instead, I spent an unreasonable amount of time debating whether a particular T-shirt was inside-out, or if it was simply designed by someone who hates order.
Now, as the day winds down, I’m choosing to embrace the ridiculousness. Maybe I didn’t accomplish anything monumental—but I survived burning food, befriending a confused spider, and being haunted by tabs I didn’t open. That’s a win in my book.
