I like lists. I write them down for almost everything. It’s almost like a sickness I do it so often. On paper, my hand, napkins, other people’s hands, take out menus, envelopes, my day planner. They’re everywhere. For the most part, they look the same. Things like: e-mail so and so back, do laundry, fold/put away laundry, remember to water the plants, now that you’ve written the letters get them to the post office so they can actually be sent, pick the kids up after school (underlined and circled at least three times).
There’s lists for everything. Such as:
The Never Ending Bucket List (a teeny little piece):
– go to Europe (anywhere will do…for now)
– go to France (because if my mother tells me one more AH-MAZE-ING THING, I will explode with jealousy)
– take driving lessons with, in France, with a French lady who drives me bonkers because of glass tapping and wheel grabbing and not explaining things to me reasons *
– lounge in the French sunshine and observe people
– learn how to drive stick shift
– hold a conversation in French sounding like a normal person that would normally hold normal sounding conversations. In French.
Things To Always Carry In Your (My) Purse:
– minty gum
– extra cash for ‘just in case’
– day planner
– a book. Never forget the book. Jeez, self. **
But the lists are a little different now. More like internal (or visual) reminders to myself to keep trying and listening and reading and if you get frustrated and don’t/can’t say things properly, that is okay. Because the most important thing, the thing to really remember and underline and circle three times is that: I’m trying.
* this actually wasn’t ON the list, but I put it there after it happened, just so I could cross it off.
** I forgot the book today. It was a sad moment.