I’m a list addict, a list junkie, a list maniac. My office, my desk and my house often look like a ticker tape parade thanks to notes I leave everywhere. So terrified I will forget something (if there was a fire in the kitchen, I would probably make a list), I scribble endlessly, trying in vain to keep myself in line.
I just started a new list. At the top: “Get the freakin’ squirrels out of the attic,” and then steps to do it. (Step 3: Relocate to Portugal, right after “give them money to leave.”)
We started hearing odd noises in the walls and above the kitchen recently, all through the day and night. It was the bushy-tailed varmints loading pecans into the walls — my walls — in preparation for winter. Up and down the roof they run, scaring the dog and making me think an airplane has crashed. Any day now I expect to come home and find the locks on the doors changed and hundreds of them inside watching Oprah.
Since I can’t allow vermin hanging around and drinking milk straight out of the carton, I did what any responsible homeowner would do: I wrote it down on a piece of paper, added it to the stack and went about my business. Problem solved.
The irony is that while I’m organized enough to keep lists, I’m not organized enough to keep on top of them. They spread so quickly. They multiply and reproduce. They invite friends over, and they get lost. I need a list of my lists to get organized, to get me moving.
Don’t know why, but something deep down in the bowels of my mind believes this is all like writing to Santa Claus — write it down, send it to the North Pole and on Christmas Day, it will be there. Simple as that.
Or that there is some list fairy who comes at night to take care of everything. I picture a fat little man with wings, a cigar and three-day-old stubble. He would wear a tool belt and have a serious problem with his jeans showing FAR too much of his southerly regions.
But there is no such fairy. Instead, my lists add up, untended and un-crossed off.
Ever come across a list with something like this: “No oil in Jeep. Finish changing. DO NOT DRIVE!” Are you kidding?!? I’ve been driving it around for the past six months!
The other day I found a list with an item that said simply, “trees.” Trees? What about them? It doesn’t say. And I can’t remember what that refers to. Should I buy some? Did I want to cut them all down? Or was there something up in them, like a cobra nest I need to avoid? Heck if I know.
Others are the same way: “needed paint,” “chimney – remove?” “shed leaning to left,” “car still catching fire.” What do these things mean? What prescription medication was I on when I thought about removing a chimney?
Another said, “fix bathroom tub leak.” That can’t be good. How come no one told me?
To try and impress upon myself the urgency, I use headings like, “Do Now, quick,” “Get it done, or no snacks!” or “We might all die if these aren’t done soon.”
It’s list madness, totally out of control. And new jobs and tasks come every day, demanding to be added to some scrap of yellowing paper with the long line of other untended duties. I will never catch up. I will never cross anything off.
So I’m creating a new list and it will be empty save for one item:
1. Eliminate all lists.
Then I will add it to my stack and promise to get to it later. One day I will.