Dear Diary - Here's why nothing gets done

  

Dear Diary,

Yesterday, Fluffy Bear had a go at me about not submitting the claim for our new glasses to our medical insurance.  He's right, it's been over two weeks since we shelled out our savings because neither of us could see a damn.  

But I keep forgetting, even though the paperwork is 80% done and is sitting on the coffee table in plain sight.

Me, who is normally so organized.

What's going on?  

I'll tell you what's going on, dear Diary.

Let me give you a snippet of my morning:

I walk towards the couch, determined to sit down, pick the paperwork off the coffee table, get it done and ready to hit the mailbox.  But, to get work done, I have to distract the dogs first.

What to do?

Ah... toy exchange.

So I quietly pick up some of the toys that are still out from yesterday and move towards the Toy Box.  Of course they see me.  Of course they know what is going on.  Of course they decide that yesterday's toys are suddenly deeply fascinating and try to grab them out of my hands.

I wrestle the toys into the box, I make a big deal about pulling different ones out and make very excited whooping noises as I throw them across the room.  

It seems to work.  They chase after the toys.

I head for the couch.

Sigh.  Sit down and do the insurance claim.

Nope, there are dogs at my heels.  All that work and I managed to distract them for a whole five seconds.

Puppy Girl starts sniffing and scratching at the bottom corner of the couch.  There's something under there.

I push the couch back to reveal a nylabone, a hedgehog carcass and a solitary piece of kibble.  They both go for it like T-Rexes.

I kick the nylabone and hedgehog out of the way.  OK, they have all their stuff.  

Sigh.  Put the couch back, then sit down and do the insurance claim.

As I walk across the floor where the couch normally is, I feel crunching underfoot.  Gross.

Time to go and get the Shark - a hand vacuum.

Now we have Puppy Girl growling and bounding at the Shark then running away as I try to suck up the dirt.

Hairballs.  

I have the Shark in my hand, I might as well suck up those hairballs I saw last night.  Now, where were they?

Ah, the usual places:  next to the bookcase in the dining room, next to the armchair in the corner of the lounge, behind the kitchen door.

Right.  Hairballs sucked up.

Sigh.  Put the Shark away push the couch back, then sit down and do the insurance claim.

I go to push the couch back to where it should be.  I have managed to wedge it between the end table and a little set of shelves.  I have to climb over the couch, push it around and into place, then fix the end table, then fix the shelves.  

By this time I'm a bit pissed off.  I need some Nicorette.  Where did I put the Nicorette?

I look on the shelves.  I look on the end table.  I feel in the pockets of my robe.

It takes me five minutes to find the Nicorette, and another two minutes to get the fucking child-proof wrapper off a piece.  I break a nail in the process.

So now I have to find a nail file.  I head to my little basket of nail thingies, stuffed with various colors of O.P.I. polish.  No nail file.

Shit.

Where did I put it?  

Think.

I used it last night after I broke a nail taking Puppy Girl out to potty.  

I walk around the house, peering at horizontal surfaces.  I find it on top of the fridge.  I have no memory of putting it there.

I file what's left of the one nail I have that was longer than 1 millimeter - my hands have gone hobo since the puppy - and consider making a cup of tea.

I'll make a cup of tea, I tell myself, and then sit down and do---

What was I going to do again?

Puppy Girl jumps up at my legs and barks.  Time to take her out in the rain to potty.  

I'll remember what that thing was that I had to do later...