My energy comes in these exaggerated spurts of chaos, where I run around crossing things off my to-do list like a crazed task monster. Today I suffered from one such day-long, task monster spasm.
You see, I keep a small red notebook with me at all times, should an attack happen without notice. It's only slightly larger than a post-it note pad, and has a hard cover and clasp. When a to-do list craze strikes, I spend painful minutes thinking of anything under the sun that may need to be done.
I could wash my car. Or organize a brunch with friends. I should really email my mom.
My eternal dialogue spills onto the page in the form of two or three word phrases until I am satisfied with the length of my list.
More so than creating the lists, in these moods I become addicted to crossing things off my list. At my low points (disregarding the entire scenario as a low point), I will write mundane tasks on my list, for the pure enjoyment of crossing them out, split seconds after it is written. Empty spam fol--DONE. An instant, undeniable rush.
As any crazed task monster knows, one can't cross out their conquered tasks with a mere ballpoint pen. It must be a permanent marker—the thick, black line sends a warning to those damned tasks left lining my little notebook. Dare to cross me, and you TOO will be crossed-out...
As I stumble out of my chaos spasm and back to reality, I look at my mutilated to-do list—permanent marker scars etched in fits of passionate organization—with a touch of embarrassment. Though beyond my flushed cheeks, I also feel the irrefutable sense of accomplishment that only my little notebook, Sharpie, and psychosis can lend.
No comments:
Post a Comment