Tuesday, December 6, 2011


I'm a list maker.  I love to have a list of shit I need to get done, and feel the absurd satisfaction of crossing tasks off it.  I get a lot of heat for being a list maker. The Sperm Donor doesn't make lists - thinks it's silly, maybe, I dunno.  Of course, he doesn't remember shit, so it doesn't necessarily prove his case, now, does it?

I was thinking about lists on my way to work this morning. I'm up to my neck in projects at work, really starting to feel overwhelmed, and wondering why I wasn't making To Do lists. Probably because I can't keep up with one in that environment - it's too dynamic.  Walk into one meeting to report something done, walk out with three things to add.

I think that lists in my personal life have become validation. I can so easily be sucked into the morass of resentment that develops when I work around the house while the SD sits on his ass and plays on his computer, or watches TV. Somehow, his inactivity, his lack of participation, makes me feel like I'm not making headway.  So I itemize. I update my Facebook status with my list of accomplishments.  I'm not looking for a pat on the head from my friends; no, it's more a case of being able to see, right there in that list, that YES, I DID get an assload of stuff done today and I have every right to be proud of it.

Now.  Where the hell is that list?