I am a terrible list writer. As in, I write lists. For everything. Not a writer of terrible lists, although I must admit, some are not lists that should be written, but I write them none the less.
They keep me organised, I feel safe with my lists.
I may be exaggerating somewhat, I have seen others who far surpass my list writing. But it doesn’t take away form my love of lists.
If I can put it in a list I will.
If not, I will re-write things to make a list (ok, that’s not true, just about everything will fit into a list somehow).
I write lists
– for camping (when we used to),
– for a day trip,
– groceries (I ALWAYS take a list to the supermarket),
– jobs around the house to fit in with my other list…this becomes a sub list on the master list.
Anything and everything. Yes, even a list of what I can list.
Most things are in a list in my head, and don’t get done. The action of writing them, so they are visible and therefore made instantly accountable means they get done. I’ve had jobs in my head for months, but I never did anything til I wrote them down. Then it becomes a further sense of accomplishment when I can cross it off.
I have lists
– on my phone,
– the ipad,
– the whiteboard,
– pieces of paper.
The next list to write?
– House inspection coming up,
– my back-into-the-gym-after-6-months routine to work out,
– things to discuss for my Market,
– new music for ipod…. the list goes on really.
Where will the list of lists end. I can picture it now. I’ll be 80+ years old (fingers crossed) and there’ll be a list of pills to take, funeral do’s and don’t’s, and everything else I’ll be forgetting to do otherwise.
I am all of these and more.