The first thing on my “do list” after I was laid off was to get rid of my do list. And for four months I did just that. I kept Post-its and any paper the size of index cards away from my twitching hands. Pens and notepads were separated as well, lest they taunt me with their seductive antics. Instead, I kept a mental journal of anything I needed to do, and it worked pretty well … for a while.
I needed the break. Do lists--at home and work--were ruling my life, and there was no escape. The bulleted items started off nice and neat, below a well-centered, underlined and appropriately commanding “DO.” But soon arrows and marginalia would appear, junking up the page—a reflection of my cluttered mind. Not! Enough! Room! For! It! All!
Sometimes the same demand even showed up twice, a few rows apart, in slightly different language--my list was getting passive-aggressive on me. Oh, she drove me crazy, but I needed her. And I admit, I played games, too. Occasionally, I'd accomplish a list-worthy task only to find it MIA on my thin little paper boss.
“What?!!” I'd gasp, toes curling, jaw clenched. “'Oil changed isn't ON here! Well it IS now!”
(Insert dilated pupils and maniacal chuckle.)
I wasn't about to skip the satisfaction of crossing off an overlooked item, so yeah, youbetcherass I scribbled it on there so I could relish in the glory of scratching it off two seconds later. Ahhhh, those sweet horizontal strokes of joy. I'm not alone in my mania, either; I've heard others admit to this, and, fellow freaks, I got your back.
Day in and day out, I reported to my list, checking in dutifully, a slave to my own orders. “Do this, do that, do more, do it with less, do it faster, do it now, do it yesterday, do it again, do it all!” My list was whacking my skull with Nike sneakers fit for Bozo: JUST (Thump.)! DO (Thump.)! It (Thump.)! Or was it me doing the smacking? I don't know. My head just hurt.
On lay-off day, I made one more do list for those tying up my loose ends, and then I stopped. I was done with the Post-it Dictator. I was FREE. And it was liberating! Visions of rolling around naked in a field of crumpled paper balls was almost appealing--but not really. The risk of paper cuts was too daunting. (A field of marshmallows, though? Now we're talking.)
Over time, I have to admit, I started to miss my list. Beneath her smooth Draconian exterior, she had a good side. She watched out for me (“Mammogram!” she'd holler). She kept me on top at work (“Conference call!” she'd bark). She reminded me about birthdays (“Gift/card for Gabriella!” she'd order). She didn't want to drive me crazy; she wanted to keep me … satisfied. Happy even.
Now she's back and we're getting along well. We've loosened our hold on each other, checking in a few times a week, not several times an hour. She's not as bossy, I'm not as crazed. I don't constantly toss her out and write her up all over again. She lets there be a higher crossed-out to not-accomplished-yet ratio.
On occasion, she still plays tricks, but it's all good. Recently, when I wasn't looking, she penned in, “Buy Stay-Pufts.”
Guess I must. It's on the list.
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