I love writing lists, always have. Getting things achieved, ticking them off and giving myself a smug pat on the back at the end of the day. Some weeks the lists are the only way to get anything done; they motivate me out from under the blanket and away from Come Dine With Me and Escape to the Country.
Today was a good day and I started off with more energy than usual. It’s fair to say I was positively brimming with great intentions. So I made a list, quite a long one in fact.
Things to do ranged from the quick and easy ‘clear up breakfast’ and ‘reply to email’ to the slightly more ambitious ‘make soup’, ‘do washing’, ‘sort legs’ (tired shouldn’t really be an excuse for hairy) and ‘put stuff on Ebay’.
This last item on the list was probably the most
unrealistic delusional challenging of all, due to the ever-growing stack of unwanted clothes in the corner of the room. A stack that now looms so large it threatens to permanently flatten the pile of the carpet underneath.
Unfortunately, by the time I’d finished my first tea of the day my ‘great intentions’ threw in the towel and decided to lay down for a rest. So eight hours later there was only one item crossed off my list. Not bad you might think until you learn the only completed task on my list was to ‘Make a List’. At least I did that well.
The important thing to remember (as my husband keeps telling me) is not to get too frustrated; to accept my limitations and pace myself. Live like a sloth, basically. I think it’ll take me a while longer to recognise what my body can and can no longer do. I am however happy to accept that everything on today’s list can always be done tomorrow. Or the next day. Or even the day after that. Or failing that, by somebody else altogether!