I wiped the table twice because the first time I wasn’t really there

Dear Delyara, My hands were doing it. My mind wasn’t. It was still at work, replaying a conversation from earlier with the exact kind of precision that proves nothing useful and still takes up so much room. So I wiped the table, looked at it, saw a mark I had missed, and had to do it again. That’s what I’m noticing more lately — how often I am physically in the house while mentally somewhere else entirely. At the table. In the hallway. In the office. In the car. In a memory. In a worry. In next week. No wonder I’m tired. I keep living in several rooms at once.