Paying attention while cooking

So, there I was, baking cheesecake. Had to put it in a bit longer, too sloshy.

And then I had this driving urge to take some measurements for a stereo cabinet project, went downstairs, spent some time measuring, making drawings, checking over supplies, materials on hand, etc., determining that I'm short two or three pieces from being able to do it entirely from materials on hand matching the existing stereo cabinet, realized the place I'd get the stuff is already closed for the day so I'd have to go out at a later date to pick ub the material.

"But what about the cheesecake?" you ask, as well you should!

Um, it isn't sloshy any longer. the cheesecake itself is quite firm, slightly golden on top, maybe a bit more towards the brown end of golden, but still ok for eating, but the crust, well, the crust, it looks quite, um, charred is the word I'm looking for here, charred, blackened, rather scorched looking, will be interesting to see if that's merely the part above the cheesecake or if the rest of the crust is equally overheated.

And there you have it, a perfect example of part of my disability, that when something grabs my attention to work on I concentrate on it to the exclusion of all else, including whatever I was already doing. Conversely, if nothing grabs my attention it's very hard for me to work on anything. But here I was, working on one project, baking, and another project jumped to the forefront of my brain and yanked me downstairs, to the first floor and the basement, for I don't know how long, the timer wasn't doing its annoying reminder beeps anymore when I got back, and if Ralph Miles had still been open I'd have been gone longer shopping for materials, I had completely forgotten I had something in the oven, it was the smell of smoke as I came up the stairs that reminded me. I had forgotten I was baking before I left the apartment in the first place.

You know something? This is not good. It's the first time I've forgotten I had something in the oven, that I had a cooking project in progress and forgot about it, but I very much fear it won't be the last time. It ties in with my gradual deterioration, and disturbs me greatly. And smoke alarms aren't any good when you're two floors away.

We had a timer that had a cord so it could be hung around one's neck, so that you didn't need to worry about forgetting that you were baking or whatever, but I don't know where it is now, if it was with mom stuff and has already been sorted and disposed of, or if it is here, and just misplaced, but it behooves me to either find it or obtain a new one, so I don't repeat this fiasco.

One works with disabilities, one doesn't deny them, they are real.