I have a dirty habit. I keep making lists. I make lists for everything. Lists of things to get done in an evening, lists of books I have read for the year, lists of goals that I have for the year, lists of people to call, lists of things to do when I have five free minutes that I don't know what to do with, lists of people to send a letter to, lists of projects that I want to get done in my house, lists of yarn to order for projects that I want to complete. About the only list I do not make is a list of lists.
While my list making tends to intrigue the man, who makes bare bones lists if any, I derive great satisfaction from them. Making lists makes me feel more organized. I take great pleasure in crossing off a task when it is done. I have to stop in the grocery store to cross off items that are in my basket. The crossing off makes me feel like I have made a great accomplishment, a list with all items crossed off is a trophy to be kept and treasured. My only problem with lists are that I sometimes put too much on them. I find that I put ten to thirteen things on my list of items to take care of each evening. I accomplish about six to eight of these items. The daily to do list is still a work in progress. Someday I will put it on the list of things to perfect.
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