I had planned to post twice this week. I am a list maker, something I learnt from my mother. I find lists enabling and love seeing the items being ticked off one by one, evidencing my achievements (however small).
I find that lists provide me with a feeling of direction. In addition, a well-written list will counteract the unreliability of my short-term memory and so I use them frequently.
The downside of this habit is that the items left unchecked can sometimes leave me with a nagging feeling of inadequacy; of having failed myself in some small way. Therefore, I have learnt to rationalise. The list is just an aide memoire, the items on it are things I hope to achieve and, as long as I cover the essentials, I don’t beat myself up when life gets in the way of ticking off the rest.
My intention had been to produce a blog post and a poem and I mean a properly thought out poem, not just the throwaway, quickly scrawled efforts that I churn out late on a Friday after a couple of wines. Not one with typos I would have to hastily correct the following morning.
I have started the poem, I have some lines penned and a sense of what it will be, it isn’t quite there yet. It needs more thought, more crafting and I needed a week which was less fraught with work and a weekend when we weren’t redecorating the kitchen to achieve that.
So there are my excuses. I’m just about to put together my list for next week. No prizes for guessing what’s going to be at the top of it.
Poetry for Dullards 