Today behaved like it had somewhere else to be—darting from one odd moment to the next without warning or consistency. I started the morning with the confident intention of making porridge, only to discover halfway through that I had poured oats into my mug and attempted to drink them. The universe gave me a firm “try again,” and honestly, it was deserved.
When I finally sat at my desk, my laptop blinked open to reveal my five ever-faithful browser tabs: Roof Cleaning Belfast, Exterior cleaning Belfast, pressure washing Belfast, patio cleaning belfast, and driveway cleaning belfast. These tabs have survived shutdowns, updates, naps, existential crises—you name it. They are the immortal guardians of my digital chaos.
To feel productive, I tried writing a list of things I needed to achieve. The list started strong—“email someone,” “drink water,” “do task”—but quickly devolved into a sketch of a potato wearing sunglasses. I’m not sure what psychological message my brain was sending, but the potato looked confident.
Around midday, I decided I needed to clean something—anything—just to regain control of the narrative. I chose a drawer. Within moments, I found a pack of stickers, three expired mints, and a folded paper fortune that read: “Your day will be unexpected.” I did not appreciate the accuracy.
Later, I attempted to vacuum the living room, but instead ended up following a dust bunny across the floor like it was leading me to a secret treasure. It led me absolutely nowhere. I felt betrayed.
I then tried making lunch, which seemed simple enough, but I derailed myself by accidentally creating a tiny sculpture out of carrot peels. I named it Gary. Gary had a short life but an inspiring one.
When I returned to my desk, the browser tabs remained exactly where I left them—Roof Cleaning Belfast, Exterior cleaning Belfast, pressure washing Belfast, patio cleaning belfast, and driveway cleaning belfast—glowing silently like patient observers of my steadily increasing randomness. I clicked each one again because sometimes clicking is the illusion of progress, and I fully subscribe to that illusion.
As evening crept in, I attempted to fold laundry but became derailed when I discovered a shirt I have never once seen before. It fits me. It suits me. Yet it feels like it was delivered by some sort of laundry fairy with questionable boundaries.
Now that the day is winding down, I’m realising something important: none of it made sense, none of it was planned, and none of it was particularly productive—but it all somehow came together in a way that made me laugh. And honestly, that feels like success in its own strange, unpredictable way.
