As I mentioned yesterday, I make lists. I do it all the time. I’m a list-maker.
Part of the reason is that I have the short-term memory of…well, a person who has short-term memory problems.
But mainly I enjoy making lists. Actually, it’s not so much the list-making, rather it’s the crossing-off of items on said list. I’m one of those people who will add an item to my list after I’ve already done it, just so I can cross it off.
Moreover, writing a list makes everything feel real. I write down every last air squat that I do at CrossFit because I feel like, if I don’t write it down, it doesn’t count.
I told my friend Bea about this particular branch of my quite catholic mental illness, and she found

(Courtesy of Natalie Dee.)
That simplifies things.