Languid Lists

I like to make lists. The act of writing down the tasks I should perform makes me feel like I am getting something done. There! It's all spelled out; the chores are enumerated (though I seldom go beyond number ten) and I feel a small surge of ambition. Then the phone rings, or I get hungry and wander into the kitchen, or spot the book I've been reading and pick it up, and the list is forgotten and gradually melts into the pile of papers on the desk (task #3 was "CLEAN UP PILE OF PAPERS ON DESK"), and I forget about it. But it did feel so good to take that first step.

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I also like to self-diagnose my seemingly chronic condition of unaccomplishment. Could it be A.D.D. (Artists Don't Dust)? Or A.D.H.D. (Artists Dislike Handling Dirt)? Maybe it's G.E.R.D. (Geniuses Enjoy Rampant Disorder). I prefer not to think it's L.G.F.N.A

Sometimes one or two of the chores on the list keep knocking around in my head, even after the paper has disappeared. Right now the persistent unpleasantry is to WRITE ANNUAL CHRISTMAS LETTER. We don't even observe Christmas! Why do I have to write a goddamned Christmas letter? The answer is...Because my relatives send me their letters, I do love many of my relatives, so I have to send them my letter. I should be writing it right now. But you see what I AM doing; I'm posting on my blog. That is much easier. I don't have to try to sort through the past year of boring inactivity, trying to make things sound more interesting than they are.

Hmmmm...I think one of the things on some list, somewhere, is: EAT ALL THE CHOCOLATE YOU WANT! Hey, I can do that! Bye!