Like the arm of a starfish, every time I have the pleasure of crossing something out on my to do list, it regenerates.
Bills, cleaning, sending thank you notes, buying gifts, re-potting a plant, clothes for an occasion, research, buying a new light bulb and the list goes on growing and shifting and reinventing itself.
I know that it is good to be busy for the most part, but I seem to be longing for those days of a teenage summer, when I was still too young to work and I had the distinct feeling of having nothing to do. Drinking gallons of iced tea and talking on the phone for what seemed like forever.
My mother used to refer to things being “a big to do” when she thought it was a complicated insurmountable task, which was and is often. I still do not know if this is a my Mom-specific phrase or it has leaked into the population. But what I am finding out is that I guess life is, for better or worse, a big To Do.
I have often wondered and joked that since I am the author of my own to do list, why dont I just stop putting things on it. Then I would be free. Little menial tasks make the list and then burn a whole in me until they are complete. I think if I stopped it would be a sad day really, because the list whispers to me from my crowded bag “keep going”, and I need that.