It all started when I overslept. The plan was to get up at 9:00, go get some plums, bake a pie and make myself a home theater. But I woke up at 11:43, my hair was tangled, the fridge was empty, and instead of a plum, there was only one carrot, which for some reason I never cut into a salad.

On days like these, I usually get irritated. The plan is important. Timing is sacred. But something inside sighed: "Oh well."

I poured myself some coffee, added a drop of coconut milk that was left over from last time and ate half a banana. Without anything. Just because I wanted to. Then I found the forgotten pears. Crumpled. Too ripe. Beautiful. I started peeling them, and with every drop of juice on my fingers it became easier. I took the remaining puff pastry that I didn’t use for New Year’s canapés, yes, it survived. I cut the pears, sprinkled them with cinnamon, a little butter, and topped them with crumbs from the cookies that my friends didn’t finish.

The pie turned out... strange. Falling apart. Incomprehensible. But it smelled like childhood. And like freedom. I ate it on the floor, wrapped in a blanket. With a laptop. With a TV series that I started last Friday and couldn’t finish.

Everything was not according to plan. But I suddenly caught myself thinking that I hadn’t felt so relaxed for a long time. As if the day had allowed me not to be productive. Not to be organized. But to be happy.

Sometimes a pie made of pears and crumbs is exactly what you need. Even if you didn’t write it down on your To-Do list. Even if you didn't have time to clean the stove. Even if the coffee was a little bitter.

Sometimes chaos is delicious.