July 5, 2013 § 4 Comments
Making lists has always helped me. Not only serving as reminders of things to do but as a way to clear and organize my cluttered mind, especially before falling asleep at night or, when half-awake with my morning tea and paper, I prepare to seize my day.
Being a visual type, I picture the list as a ladder: First I prop it, steady against the rockface of my day, (sometimes a gentle slope with grassy tufts sparkling with dew, other times a jagged, dark and daunting granite wall heading into the clouds) with each rung ready to be checked off, leading to the top of the hill: a completed list and a sigh of relief . . .
Oh but I wish . . .
Days never happen as planned and The List, standing like the two stones of the Decalogue, becomes a different kind of reminder: where few things, or nothing, has been checked off on time, appearing set on a Sisyphean course.
Still, I love the task of making lists. They are my day’s anchors, points of departure and, when needed, signs of hope . . . it never occurs to me that the task is futile. On the contrary.
So now, this being written down, I am elated and relieved because “posting on my blog” has been on the top of my list, looking at me every morning for too many days.
And tomorrow this “must do” will takes its place again, far back at the end of my list.