This is not me, just how I felt.

Headed out of the backdoor, on my way to work after a rushed morning with much on my mind, I decide to take a moment to discard an old bag of dog food and go ahead and feed the dog while I’m at it. I place my jacket and bag on the dryer and proceed to do accomplish a task I believe will take one minute, after which I will feel good about my choice to be a doer and not a procrastinator.

After feeding the dog, however, I do not see my keys on the key hooks. I search my pants pockets and double check the hooks. I survey all the counters in the kitchen. I wander back to the office, trying to remember if I had the keys out when I picked up my bag and computer. I search my pants pockets. Then I stop for a moment to rethink my morning. I had taken the dog for a walk, which means I should have had the keys then. I check the pants I had on while walking. I check the bathroom counter.

While I am wandering almost aimlessly about the house, I think about how absentminded I am, how much smoother my morning would be if I had a routine. I think about how I will probably need to take the toll road into work so I can shave a few minutes off the commute. I search my pants pockets. I realize this is not actually helping me find my keys, so I pause again and reflect. I remember taking the keys off the hook because I was thinking about how a different set was missing. I must have had them when I was about to leave because I wouldn’t have gone into the utility room to see the dog food bags without my keys.

On the dryer I find my jacket and keys and feel a sense of relief and frustration. Then I notice that the door is open, not just ajar but halfway open. Has Rory run off? She is prone to take advantage of such an opportunity, and I likely left the intermediary door open while looking for my keys. I step through the doorway and whistle, prepared to chase her down. I stop, and realize I should probably get her leash first. I step back inside and grab the leash, turn and start to head back out. I pause. Maybe I should check the house first before creeping around the cul-de-sac in search of a dog who might not be there. I am not quite paralyzed, but I can’t decide what is the best use of my time.

As I turn again, this time to head back in the house, I see Rory standing in the doorway, likely in response to my whistling for her. I curse myself, audibly maybe, or maybe just in my head. I laugh a little and put the leash back. Gathering up all my work things, I head out again, thinking that I should definitely take the toll road.

I consider all the moments I could have taken a breath and collected my thoughts, to actually work through the situation I was in and where I might have left the keys. I think about how often I waste time in this kind of foggy, not quite present state. I replay the whole charade over in my mind. And I realize, as a cross the freeway on the overpass, that I forgot to take the turn for the toll road.

This is too often my life. Unmindful. Disorganized. Frayed.