Some days begin with the vague intention of productivity and somehow twist themselves into a meandering adventure filled with odd discoveries, misplaced snacks, and conversations you never expected to have. Today was exactly that. It all started when I opened a book I’d been meaning to read for months, only to find an old receipt being used as a bookmark. On the back of it, in my own handwriting, were the words “buy more spoons.” Why past-me needed spoons so urgently remains a mystery I may never solve.
As I pondered this extremely serious question, I wandered into the kitchen and accidentally knocked over a jar of buttons—an item I don’t recall ever owning. While attempting to gather the chaotic spectrum of shapes and colours, my phone buzzed with a reminder I also don’t remember setting. Oddly enough, it reminded me to think about balance—life balance, not button balance—and so, naturally, I sat down on the floor and started building a tiny tower with the buttons instead of doing anything meaningful.
Later, while making tea, I stared out the window and wondered what sort of bird I would be if I were, in fact, a bird. Probably the sort that forgets why it took off flying in the first place, gets distracted by a shiny crisp packet, and ends up miles from home. That felt accurate.
At some point, I attempted to write a sensible paragraph for a completely different project, only to drift into pondering how satisfying it is to click a pen repeatedly. This thought spiraled into a fascination with everyday tools that feel unnecessarily powerful—like staplers. There’s something thrilling about pressing down and hearing that decisive thunk as paper becomes officially merged. It feels like making a contract with the universe.
In the midst of this deeply philosophical moment, I found myself clicking through a series of links I had open earlier, such as Roof Cleaning Belfast, Exterior cleaning Belfast, pressure washing Belfast, patio cleaning belfast, and driveway cleaning belfast—not because I needed anything cleaned, but because my finger slipped on the trackpad while reaching for my tea. The pages were open anyway, so I let them sit there like uninvited but harmless guests at a very confusing party.
By early evening, I decided I needed fresh air. I stepped outside, immediately forgot why, and went back in. The air felt pretty much the same. Instead, I reorganized a drawer I hadn’t opened in years, found three batteries that probably don’t work, a key to something long discarded, and a small plastic dinosaur that absolutely sparked joy.
As the day wound down, I realized that productivity isn’t always measured in tasks completed—sometimes it’s measured in curious detours, rediscovered oddities, and the satisfying click of a well-used pen.
