Our Echo
Title, story type, location, year, person or writer
 
Add a Post
View Posts
Popular Posts
Hall of Fame
Projects
Visitors
Contests
Search

Multitasking

Story ID:9876
Written by:Michael Timothy Smith (bio, link, contact, other stories)
Story type:Musings, Essays and Such
Location:Caldwell ID USA
Year:2014
Person:Me
View Comments (5)   |   Add a Comment Add a Comment   |   Print Print   |     |   Visitors

It was Friday …Yes!

I arrived home, sat my over-the-shoulder-computer-holder (laptop bag) on the
floor on my side of the sofa. Ginny was still at work. I poured a drink for one, sat down
and fired up my home computer.

Our cat, Miss Priss, rubbed against my leg, begging for a scratch on her head and
kitty treats. As my computer ground through its startup process, I fed Miss Priss treats,
one-at-a-time.

Our younger kitty walked into the room. She took one look at me, "You're
not Mom."

She turned and left the room.

Miss Priss got her share of treats. She wandered off in search of water. I began
to go through my email. I chuckled over a joke someone sent. I sent a reply to
another who needed prayers.

Before I knew it, my drink was gone. I stood to refresh it. As I walked to the
kitchen, I noticed my left front pocket felt light. I reached into it. My wallet was there,
but my cell phone wasn't.

Where did I leave it?

Sometimes, when I call Ginny on my way home, I put the speaker phone on and
set my phone in the handgrip of my door. I can talk to her and drive with both hands. "I
bet I left it there."

I put my shoes on, opened the front door, walked down the steps, unlocked the
car and checked the handgrip. My phone wasn't there. It also wasn't in the console or
under the seat, if it had fallen from the handgrip, when I closed the door.

On my way upstairs, and as I walked into
the apartment, my mind ran through all
the places I stopped on the way home from work. There was only the gas station down
street.

Could my phone have slipped from my pocket when I got out of or back into the
car?

I sat on the sofa. "I know!" I said out loud. I grabbed our home phone (I'm old
and still have one.) and called my cell. I rang two feet to my right, where I'd plugged it
into the charger when I arrived home, twenty minutes earlier

I laughed. If Ginny had been home, I would not hear the end of her teasing.
I'd like to blame it on age, but I've done stuff like this all my life. It's not age. It's a
busy mind, failing to keep up with too many thoughts.

Multitasking is falsehood. I can't do it.

Michael T. Smith