Will I need my baking trays?

This is possibly the most ridiculous question I have ever asked myself at 2.00 am. 

It all started when I thought about the things I really use in the kitchen. 

To be a purposefully vague, I might be sharing a house soon. I will view the place in a few days’ time. 

Too tired to do any more work, I came to bed congratulating myself that it was before midnight. And then I got to thinking about my habits.

I pondered about the  things I have used for years: my favourite spoon, the egg-lifter that works, my old wooden board for rolling pastry, the old wine bottle I use as a rolling pin, the brass pan, the spaghetti drainer, the bread knife, the meat knives, my favourite knife for slicing onions. 

Who knew that I had an inventory in my head for every single kitchen knife I possess?

I tried to tell myself that such considerations were not important at this late hour. My mind, however, has a habit of making decisions as the thought arises. It saves time because one does not have to think of the same thing twice.

 I succeeded in shutting off the stream of kitchen items running through my head. You would think that that would have brought me peace. Enough calm to drift off to sleep.

But, oh no! My brain is skittered off to that quandary everyone who rents has to confront square-on: pictures. The kind that you hang on the wall. If I never drill another hole in another wall again, I will probably manage to be quite happy. 

The problem is, however, that I am rather fond of a couple of frames that I do have.

I remember giving away most of my books before emigrating to Portugal. I also remember that I left quite a few pictures behind. 

I caught myself the other day wondering about something that I had painted. I tried to trace the series of reasons why it was deemed not good enough to pay for it to be transported to my new country of residence. And I wondered why I had not taken a photo of it. 

Then I remembered that we did not have smartphones back then and that to locate my camera amongst the great mess of things I had to organise was too much to think about.

The irrational me started whining about how much I need to sleep well tonight. The experienced me knew that the only solution to getting sleepy was to make myself a cup of coffee and dictate this drivel into my smartphone.

I forgot that when I hit publish on my smart phone it publishes immediately and does not ask me any questions like, “Do you want to publish now?”  My apologies, therefore, if you had the misfortune to read the autocorrect version.