The Ten Stages of a Forgotten Cup of Tea

You decide to have a cup of tea, but later on you find…
1. You forgot to fill the kettle.
2. You filled the kettle, but forgot to switch it on.
3. You remembered to switch it on, but it was still unplugged from the last time.
4. You managed to boil the kettle (twice), but forgot to get the cup or tea bag out.
5. You reboiled the kettle (three times), remembered the cup, and a tea bag, but didn’t get as far as actually adding any water.
6. You remembered to put the water in, but forgot to take the tea bag out.
7. You remembered to take the tea bag out, but forgot to put the milk in.
8. You remembered to put the milk in, but forgot to drink the tea.
9. You drank half a cup, but forgot the rest.
10. You find half a cup of cold tea in the microwave three days later…

How far do you get?


14 thoughts on “The Ten Stages of a Forgotten Cup of Tea”

  1. number six for me too! (no milk in my tea)
    this has been one of many ‘ah ha’ moments while reading this website and other resources on aspergers and women. i’d thought forgotten cups of tea were ‘just’ a personal foible.

  2. Couldn’t resist a chuckle at this post. Sat here now at my PC at home, I have three half finished mugs of coffee within reach (all cold!). And only moments ago, went to roll myself another cigarette, which can join the two sat on my desk that I haven’t yet lit, and the half dozen or so in the ashtray that I put down after only a couple of puffs. (I smoke so little of them sometimes, I wonder whether I’m really addicted to the nicotine, or whether it’s just some weird kind of stim).

    At least it gets me some exercise – it usually takes at least three trips up and down the stairs to the kitchen and back before I finally remember to take my mug with me – plus all the times I have to get the mop out or change my trousers because I forgot that the “empty” wasn’t actually empty! Then there’s the times I realise an hour later that I started pacing from the moment I stood up (my most usual stim), and didn’t even make it out of the room!

    I really ought to show this post to my colleagues at work. I have something of a reputation for not doing my “round” when it’s time for a tea break in the office – little do they know that it would probably take me the rest of the day before they all finally got the drink that they wanted, and the office would be swimming in spills! I even avoid having a coffee very often so I don’t feel so bad that I “owe” a round of drinks to the guys.

    For years now, I’ve used one of the old-fashioned stove-top kettles with a whistle on it. Sort of helps to get me past the “did the kettle boil yet?” stage. I need the house to be quiet as well though – otherwise I’ll “hear” the whistle whether it’s blowing or not (or convince myself that I’m just imagining it and burn the bottom out of the kettle! – done that a couple of times.)

    Seemingly insignificant problems” – great choice of words, Maria.
    Often, I find it’s the little things that happen 100 times a day that frustrate the most. An hour or two stimming? – no problem, I’ve always done it, and know to set aside the time for it when I really need the ‘stress-relief’. (though I think myself lucky that my situation allows me this luxury – there must be folks here that really struggle to have time to spend in their “sanctuary”). So I’ve accepted that, and it doesn’t bother me too much any more. However…

    I swear, if I bang my head on the bottom of my computer desk when reaching for the plugs one more b****y time… Grrr… ;-)
    As friends are keen to point out, this particular little problem could easily be remedied by re-arranging the room a little, or just leaving the wall sockets turned on and the computer on standby (or maybe just remembering that the desk is right above my head!).
    He he, crazy NT people! How can they possibly get any work done without their monitor exactly in the middle of the desk? Or sleep at night knowing that they might have left something plugged in to the mains? So it’ll stay as it is, and I’ll keep banging my head.
    But in an odd way, banging my head like that every day (and the ensuing cursing like a drunken sailor!), is part of my little routine – I think there’s a little part of me that just wouldn’t have it any other way.

    I think it’s interesting to talk about these “little” things. They require such tiny changes to the world around us so that we can be a little more comfortable in the NT world – yet strangely, seem often to be the aspect of our “difference” that is hardest to explain to others. Lack of eye contact, and even stimming to some extent, I’ve found people willing to accept once they know I have a “medical condition” – but it’s totally impossible to get across how one tiny change to the stuff on my desk can make me so uncomfortable; or even explosively angry. Or to explain why I fume inside when the nice woman in the sandwich shop suggests, yet again, that I might try something different today when I pop in for my lunch (at least being AS means I’ll not be buying my lunch anywhere else if I can possibly help it – they should be grateful for their ‘No.1 crazy customer’; such “loyalty”, he he!).

    My theory is that the “big” symptoms are easier to get across because many NT’s expect “crazy people to act crazy” – but the “seemingly insignificant” we’re expected to just let pass because there’s no comprehension that it could really, really matter to us – possibly spoiling a day that we’re otherwise coping very well with.
    Or there’s the flip side – if we manage well to integrate with the NT world, folks won’t believe we have a problem because we “don’t act crazy enough”. Then, there’s absolutely no chance of them accepting the “little things” – which really are such a small compromise for them to make, given how much effort we have to put into “acting normal” so that they can feel comfortable (that’s basically why we spend all day “acting” isn’t it, really?)

    Best wishes.

  3. For once, there was a brewed pot of tea at the office. I took a cup of it.

    And put a tea bag in it.

  4. Oh thank GOODNESS it’s not just me!! On the path to an official diagnosis in July. I love reading posts like this – seemingly insignificant problems that I face each day. But when there’s multiple problems like this: forgotten tea, lost keys, lost phone… Let alone dressing and preparing two small children to leave the house… Oh and ME!

    I’ve just sent this to my husband who is forever berating me about half finished tasks and cups of tea. My previous excuse has always been tiredness, forgetfulness, saying “silly me” which I grew up hearing from my family. Truth is, it was frustrating and confusing for me to have these things constantly happening throughout my childhood, adolescence and adulthood. I would laugh it off, but truthfully feel frustrated and bewildered at how an otherwise intelligent woman couldn’t do these simple tasks.

    Anyway, thank you. Thank you.

  5. I first came across this blog yesterday, and I’m finding that the vast majority of the content is making me ever surer of my self-diagnosis :-D thank you very much for your hard work.

    This post really made me laugh aloud – I am forever having to reboil the kettle before I get round to making the cup of tea, then invariably forget all about it. When I eventually remember – or, most likely, wander into the kitchen and rediscover it, – I end up drinking a tepid cup of tannin stew! I’m not sure it can any longer be called ‘tea’ at that stage … Thankfully I’ve never been particularly Aspie about my tea ;-)

    (Smarties, on the other hand, are a completely different case! Your post on the matter also amused me greatly.)

  6. 9. But that’s only because I keep forgetting I have a microwave.

  7. Many, many times every single day, I boil the kettle and pour water on a teabag… and get no further. I drive myself loopy with it!

Comments are closed.