I’ve always been a list maker. The type may have altered over the years – from just-keep-on-adding ones, week-by-weeks, Today’s Jobs, categorised-and-indexed registers including projected cost in dollars and time (that was a thing of beauty), scribbled on old envelopes, best-writinged in purpose bought books, pecked into my phone or tabbed-and-entered into excessively convoluted excel spreadsheets – but I can’t remember a time that I haven’t found peace in “just jotting it down”. Currently I’m running a week-by-week-and-carry-it-forward book packed with the mundane, a smattering of pipedreams, quite a few scary, one or two costly, and as few obligations as I can manage.
When I was younger and the contents tended to be of the clean my room/do my maths homework/fix my bike puncture genre, the lists were a bit counterproductive as they just mocked me for my unproductivity – or so I felt. I’m not sure when it was that I started seeing them as the opposite; sometimes it’s nice to simply sit and peer through the scribbles at what we’ve managed to achieve.
On days like today, when the sun is blaring but the snow on the mountains is still making itself known, I get a bit impatient. You see, today is the perfect day to knock a few items off the list but it’s also housework day; the list has to wait.
Now I know! I’ve heard it all before! The dusting and vacuuming can wait. It’s all inessential, pointless, thankless, and labour-intensive idiocy. Leave it!
But, along with a penchant for crisply ironed shirts and pillowslips, the smell of furniture polish, and the way light bounces around a newly cleaned room, I like my surroundings tidy; a place for everything and everything in its place.
So, today it’s housework day. The list will still be there tomorrow.
But right after I’ve blogged…
and gazed out the window for a bit.