I was dreading getting up this morning. I looked at the time on my phone and it said 7:14. I closed my eyes and opened them again to find that it was 7:34. I panicked and woke Ari up. I told him we were going to be late.

I went into kitchen, grabbed two pieces of bread and began to spread peanut butter on one and honey on the other.
As I held the butter knife over the bread and began to spread the peanut butter I felt the thoughts begin to seep into my mind slowly at first like grains of sand and then more forcefully like large hail stones beating down on me.
It’s Tuesday. There’s only three more slices of bread. I need to buy more bread. My book isn’t finished. I’ve written 92 pages. But I told everyone I wrote a book because I like to exaggerate sometimes in the hopes that if I say it, it will actually happen. I can’t write if I have to potty train Samara and pick up Ari from school. I’m also at a difficult spot in my story. I’m afraid to go on and face what I have to write. Tomorrow is Wednesday and I’m excited because I get to go to a blogging event and there will be food there. I love food. Also I get paid for it eventually. I have to finish my transcription. When am I actually going to do that? It’ll happen tomorrow, except it can’t because I won’t be home tomorrow. Also I need to learn time management…

Then I realized what was happening. My mind was controlling me. My mind was going in many different directions and I had forgotten all about the sandwich that I was making. In that moment I said to my mind:

I looked down at the slice of bread. I looked at the knife. Slowly I dipped the knife into the peanut butter and spread it onto the whole wheat bread. I looked a the bread intently. I noticed it was porous. I looked at the holes. Some were tiny while others were larger. There was a large hole near the crust.
Then I picked up the knife and dipped it into the honey jar. I noticed the golden color of the honey and its dense texture as I spread it onto the bread. I watched as the bread drank the honey into its pores.
As I watched the smallness of what I was doing, I felt calm. All I had to think about was composing these two slices of bread. They were the same in texture but what I added to them made them different.
My mind slowed down. 
This reminded me that slowness is possible. Calm is achievable if I stay in this moment, even if the moment is just about peanut butter.