I am a list writer. I am. It’s true.
In fact I wrote a list before Christmas that was so lengthy, each task so full of hidden detail, that I freaked. Items like ’27. Cupboard’ should have actually been broken down into a subgroup of 30 combined tasks. ‘Cupboard’ should have been the title of a separate list. It was very daunting.
I felt much better when the list was hastily screwed up and thrown with some force into the bin.
The material evidence was gone but the list stayed in my head. Most of the items are still incomplete. And many more have been added.
Dad writes lists too and has his own superstitions about them. Like he’ll never stop a list at item 13, he’ll always think of something else to jump the list to at least 14. Bad luck will follow, apparently.
So I wasn’t surprised this morning when Tom asked me to divide a page into squares for him to write a list of things he wanted to accomplish today.
I’d add that to a list of ‘Things To Do’.
And at the end of the day all items have been ticked. Very satisfying.