I Had a To-Do List. The Universe Had Other Plans

I woke up one morning with confidence.

That was my first mistake.

I stretched, looked around, and thought, You know what? Today I’m going to get things done.

Somewhere, the universe spit out its coffee.

I had a whole plan. Laundry. Cleaning. Groceries. Yard work. Maybe even organize that one cupboard where I’ve been throwing random crap for several years because apparently my organizational system is just “close the door quickly.”

I was going to be one of those functional adults.

You know the type.

They wake up at 6:00am, drink lemon water, fold fitted sheets correctly, and own matching food-storage containers WITH THE CORRECT LIDS.

Suspicious people.

Anyway, I started with laundry.

Easy.

I gathered everything, carried it downstairs, loaded the washing machine, added detergent and proudly pressed Start.

Nothing happened.

I pressed Start again.

Nothing.

I stared at the machine.

The machine stared back.

I pressed Start harder because apparently I believed the washing machine respected authority.

Still nothing.

After several minutes of troubleshooting, muttering and threatening to replace it with a washboard, I discovered the lid wasn’t completely closed.

Excellent.

Nine minutes into my productive day and I had already been intellectually defeated by a washing machine.

Moving on.

I decided to clean the kitchen.

There were approximately four dishes in the sink, which somehow became seventeen dishes once I started cleaning. I don’t understand kitchen mathematics, but I’m pretty sure dishes reproduce when exposed to water.

Then I wiped the counter.

That’s when I noticed the toaster needed cleaning.

While cleaning the toaster, I noticed the cupboard beside it was messy.

While organizing the cupboard, I found something that belonged in the bathroom.

I carried it to the bathroom and noticed the garbage needed emptying.

I took the garbage outside and noticed weeds.

And that is how, forty-five minutes later, I found myself standing in the backyard holding a screwdriver, one gardening glove and a bottle of bathroom cleaner.

I had no idea what I was doing anymore.

Productivity had become a side quest.

Fine.

Groceries.

I made a list because responsible adults make lists.

Milk. Bread. Vegetables. Dog treats. Toilet paper.

Simple.

I drove to the store.

I came home with chips, hummus, cookies, sparkling water, two candles I absolutely did not need and a plant that looked emotionally vulnerable.

I forgot the toilet paper.

Naturally.

By this point, I decided I deserved lunch.

This was when the air fryer entered the story.

The air fryer and I have an understanding.

I don’t ask questions.

It makes food.

This is the healthiest relationship in my life.

I tossed something frozen into it, pressed a button and walked away feeling accomplished.

Ten minutes later, I returned to discover I had never actually turned it on.

Fantastic.

Apparently today I was being outsmarted by every appliance in the house.

Meanwhile, the dogs had been watching this entire disaster unfold.

Dogs don’t judge you openly.

They just stare.

Three little furry HR representatives silently documenting your performance.

One of them finally walked toward the door.

Fine.

Walk time.

We stepped outside and immediately one dog needed to sniff a blade of grass for eleven minutes because apparently it contained important documents.

Another dog tangled the leashes around my legs.

The third suddenly spotted something approximately four postal codes away and launched forward like she’d been personally activated by NASA.

There I was, stumbling down the sidewalk behind three dogs, carrying poop bags and whispering things that would get me removed from several community Facebook groups.

Eventually we returned home.

I looked at the clock.

It was only 1:17pm.

ONE SEVENTEEN.

I felt like I had already lived three Tuesdays.

So I made a decision.

I was done.

Laundry could wait.

The yard could remain mildly haunted.

The cupboard could continue operating as a storage-based escape room.

I put on comfortable clothes, grabbed snacks and sat down.

And that’s when I saw it.

The washing machine.

Still full.

Apparently I had washed the same load of laundry hours earlier and completely forgotten about it.

Did I immediately move it to the dryer?

Absolutely not.

I looked directly at that washing machine and said:

“Tomorrow’s problem.”

Then I went back to the couch.

Because sometimes productivity means finishing your entire to-do list.

And sometimes productivity means keeping yourself, your animals and that emotionally vulnerable grocery-store plant alive until bedtime.

Both count.

At least that’s what I’m telling myself.

And if anyone needs me, I’ll be sitting quietly pretending I didn’t just remember the groceries are still in the trunk. 😂

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