List making

So one thing I have noticed about myself and my way of preserving some sense of sanity is my OC list making skills. I find them everywhere. If there is a scrap of paper in my house most likely it has been converted into a make shift list. The weirdest thing about these lists is that they are always the same. Seriously. I have found lists from five years ago with essentially the same things to-do on them as I write today. Either I have not accomplished much in those last five years (a likely possibility) or those same things are still on my mind. Anyhow, I wanted to put up a short (very rough draft) paper I wrote for one of my creative writing classes about just such the thing. Ignore the grammer and technical flaws if you can, I know I am hopeless in those areas. Hope you enjoy the inner workings of Holly Moore's brain.

To-Do: Write Essay

Should I happen to die tomorrow and someone came upon all of my writings (even the ones I have long tossed away); the hundreds of poems, most of them ridiculous attempts at some "deep" idea I am still unfamiliar with, some of them fairly good, all of the letters, my short stories, even my journal that reads like a parrot, nothing would give me away more than my lists. There soldier on endless rows of overwhelming, recycled items that will most likely remain on my list, preparing to haunt all lists of the future.

Of all my virgin notebooks that I buy intending to fill with shades of myself, collections of poems or clever bits of stories, I always end up soiling them with my dirty lists of to-do’s and to-change’s. Even the books that are not spiral bound, but instead the pages are firmly glued in place are not safe; though I always seem to make a covenant with myself that they will remain pure of writing that is as temporary as a to-do list. But really, how temporary are my fanatical lists? If I were to compare them with some of my other more “stable” writings I would see that they far out number the hundreds of poems I have written, or creative stories I have penciled beside my bed as I was fluttering between sleep and reality. And who says that a list is not creative writing? I would be hard pressed to remember a day where I actually accomplished all that was on my long scrap of paper. I find it enormously creative to think that I could succeed in crossing off my ten-item list on top of my already busy day.

I guarantee myself that I will find within each notebook one list with the exact same entries excepting two or three. In fact, I was almost shocked the first time that I found a small black notebook that I had not written in for a few years and found a to-to list which was nearly identical to the one I was writing right then. The same entries included: get to 135 pounds, write one poem, do the dishes, say prayers, fold laundry, make something, go running, grocery shop, etc., etc., etc. Monotonous lists of never changing tasks, but they served their purpose. Lists which reminded me of my priorities, or provided striking reminders of what I wrote to be important, but didn’t really believe. Had the things been really important they might have been accomplished at some point instead of remaining forever on my lists to be gotten to when it was finally convenient.

My lists are brutally honest of who I am at that moment. More importantly they reminded me that though I have changed and grown over the years, who I am deeper remains the same. I am still troubled by the same worries, still hate the same chores, still want time to be creative. My priorities stay the same. Will someone who doesn’t know me see me as the woman who thought 135 pounds was an ideal weight for someone who was 5’10” and was obsessed with losing 10-20 pounds depending on the season? Will I be given away as someone who detests sweeping because the item “sweep kitchen floor” remains a to-do until after 3 weeks in a row it mysteriously disappears, either because I was sick of my husband having to ask me to do it, or because he did it himself? Will they notice that I rarely have “make dinner” on the list because that is an enjoyable task that I don’t need reminding of, or will I be seen as someone who makes frozen pizzas? I am interested to see what someone who doesn’t know me would make of my most reoccurring theme of literature.

So when I die I wouldn’t mind if someone read off my unfinished list of things to accomplish, because although it says a lot about a person who accomplishes what they originally set out to do, I think it also says a lot about the person of what is on that list. Though I may not ever see all of the places I have written to go visit, I would hope that the person who reads them would understand my desire for travel. Though I might never learn to speak Italian, just maybe someone would notice how much I loved and admired the ability to speak another language. Though I fill my list with an insane amount of things to see and learn and do, and though I know I will most likely never get a chance to do all of them; more than anything, I hope it might be a method to show that I was a person who wanted a lot out of life and believed that it was capable.