Listing badly

 

I’m a fan of a list. Nothing gives me greater satisfaction than to write down things I have to do or items I need to buy.

Or lives I need to get.

This time of year is, of course, the ideal time for list-making.

Resolutions to be made. And discarded within days.

Dream holiday itineraries to be committed to paper. And perhaps even booked.

Diets to be embarked upon with weight and vital statistics reluctantly noted (and grieved over).

Future career or employment options investigated and caution possibly thrown to the wind where a job is concerned.

Re-evaluation of a relationship and an infamous Ross/Rachel from Friends list of pros and cons of staying or going.

I’ve done them all*. Not specifically this year but certainly over the last decade and a half, there isn’t a festive season that passed without me committing my future to a bit of paper numbered 1-5.

Most of my lists achieve the square root of hee-haw, though there have actually been some life-changing bits in there, too. But just writing stuff down makes me feel as if I’ve accomplished something, made a start.

Just writing stuff down.

Writing stuff down.

Writing.

Duh.

Yeah, I don’t need pen and paper to commit to memory the lesson from that.

So no more lists, no more procrastination through pointless activity.

Just write stuff down. That’s 2016 sorted. It’s on my to-do list.

•I couldn’t resist adding another great sitcom moment that also involves a list and one of the most quoted comedy lines ever. Altogether now: “Don’t tell him, Pike!”

*Yes, I do realise half this blog is actually a list. And previous blogs have also been nothing more than lists. I told you: I like LISTS! And also writing stuff down. In lists. I do have a tiny smidgen of self-awareness. It’s No. 4 on my list of things I know about myself.

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