Of Being Overly Distracted

The last time I cried, I had been succumbed to a forty minute intense workout session of meditation. You see, my mind has a flaky way of jumping along every corner of the universe and then not return to what it was supposed to think about. So meditation was; in simpler terms, the world tour of my endearingly lovable brain, a postal stamp that was stuck in one corner of the envelope but traveling all around the world.

It's not that I get distracted easily or excel in a lack of focus. But the mere deed of listening raptly to someone becomes a major feat when I realize I could be doing something more resourceful and worthwhile during that time, like thinking about food, or maybe vibing to my recent favorite playlist.

Although alternatively, I'm also confident that all attempts to indulge me in other interests would face a substantial failure if say, I were reading a novel or going through my phone. Because it is not  the lack of interest in the object of attention; but rather the novelty and attractiveness of something other than the object of attention that catches the eye.

The reason I was supposed to turn towards meditation was the fact that in the past 3 days, I had lost two of my metro cards on the platforms. My carelessness had been blamed as the guilty party. Looking back later, I realized none of it would have happened if I hadn't been panicking for not reaching my class on time.

Still calling myself 'distracted' would not be quite the appropriate

Oh hell, forgot the tea on the stove.

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Again.