I make my lists, though I know the things may or may not get done. My weekend list, for example, does not include “put away the laundry that’s been patiently waiting in baskets for nearly a week,” though I’ll try to do that if the circumstances cooperate and the motivation remains. That same list does include the cryptic “kitchen table,” though, which could be its own list – it includes putting away said laundry, finding homes for the odd mish-mash that’s roosting on the table, work on a gift compilation, and, in general, create a flat surface where before there was none.
There are six other things on my list and at least four that I didn’t remember to note (“bring in water bottles from the car” comes to mind).
What can I say? I’m ambitious.
I don’t make these lists intending to complete them – not when the sun’s shining in the back yard and the smell of freshly-cut grass still clings to my fingers. No, the lists are like a signpost some days and a brainstorm on others. Sometimes I’ll find myself shrugging them off and wandering outside for a bear picnic, while other times I’ll glance at them and remember that yes, I DID need to get that one thing done before Monday.
I’m not particular with what I write my lists on; I keep a stash of scrap paper tucked on top of the microwave and these scraps seem to be my best lists, the ones I’ll “listen” to. When I use a notepad, I start to get caught up in formatting and design; I start to obsess over bullet points and sub-categories.
Though a scrap of any old paper (even the back of an envelope, should one present itself) will suit my list-making desires, I am not so open-minded with my choice of pen. (Rarely will I use a pencil. I’m not sure why, though I suspect an association to times tables.) No, a list cannot be properly contrived in my world unless it’s been jotted with a pen that could just as easily dash off something insightful and meaningful.
The pen, you see, is nearly as important as what it’s writing! There are some who maintain that coffee or tea taste fine in whatever you drink them from. I disagree, politely but firmly. HOW you drink it is a large percent of the experience and thus the pleasure. So just as I drink my daily cup of tea in my green flowered china, I write my lists and my journals with pens I like.
So, with that, I’m off to completely ignore my list in the early morning silence of my house.
