I like making lists.
Pen for short-term lists, for lists of things “to-do,” for grocery lists, for packing lists, for making sure I don’t forget.
Pencil for the longer-term lists – lists which require careful planning and deserve fastidious, elegant handwriting. I don’t write these lists in pencil because it gives me the option of erasing goals or items. Those goals would never disappear – palimpsests would simply be in their stead.
I write out lists by hand.
Seeing my handwriting makes me believe those things listed on the page more. They are a part of me, they are what I believe in, they are what I stand for, they are what I must do. The list is a part of me and I am made up of each of those items.
I am a chronic list-maker. Shit just runs better around here when lists are involved. The house will not fall apart if there are no lists, but if there are no lists, then it is a sure-fire sign that I might be falling apart.
The lists are not a Partner thing; they are totally all about me and my Type-A personality. The lists help keep me from frittering away my day, my week, my year. The lists help me keep track not only of what I need to be doing
call airline re: miles
pick up stamps
order food processor
deal with car registration/inspection
make list of office days/research days for this week
begin working on syllabus for spring
plan diss schedule for Feb.
but also what I want to be doing – what the goals are for this year, this month, this week. The list helps me keep those goals in sight both literally and metaphorically.