I have come to this realization slowly over the years. I make lists for everything. I love lists. I thrive on lists. In all honesty, I'm not sure I could function without my lists. I have shopping lists, To Do lists, pro and con lists, contact lists, lists of my lists...they are magneted to my refridgerator, tucked in my car console, folded up in jacket pockets, zippered into diaper bags.
I get this from my Dad. Robert S, as many of you may know, carries around a little spiral notebook in his shirt pocket for his lists. He writes everything down. When we are on the phone together, we are both most likely making lists simultaneously. It is a sad genetic trait. There is no satisfaction like crossing something off a list. Well, you know what I mean.
Now, mind you, these aren't SCHEDULES. I ABHOR schedules. I hate having to do things at a certain time, fit my life into someone else's day. I like to clean the kitchen at 2am, drink coffee at 4pm, take a nap at 8am. I think 24-hour supermarkets are fantastic because they allow me to peruse the cereal aisle in the middle of the night.
Occasionally, I'll throw caution to the wind and try to live a day without my lists. Usually, this is an item on my To Do list, which kind of defeats the whole purpose. Example:
Finish the laundry
See if Goodwill accepts children at their donation center
Buy Dr. Seuss stamps
Don't make lists today
So far, no luck.
Is this wrong? Am I being unfair to that side of me that searches for internal spontaneity? I'll probably need to make a list to figure it out. But, just perhaps, that's okay. At least, for now.