~click image to read the buttons~
"rabbit rabbit march 2014" (c) vanessa v kilmer 20140303
[would've had it posted on Saturday if I had a list]
When I die, they’re going to write “List Lady” on my headstone because of all of the lists they will find in my personal effects. I need to become famous so that my daughter can sell the lists to pay for my coffin and the hole to put it in. Although, Snoogs, if you’re listening, just douse me in lighter fluid and strike a match. Much cheaper and you can keep my ashes in with Misty and the Codes. We’ll keep each other warm for all eternity.
I need lists. They’re like road maps. Without them, I can’t make it from one moment to the next. Good thing my dusty self will be kept in a box since I won’t have a list that leads me to heaven or even my more likely destination of hell where there are no ice cubes for my GnT’s but plenty of company.
See, no list to keep me on track with this little essay and I end up wandering and meandering like a chicken with its head cut off but with lots less energy. I was in the middle of writing a journal entry when I detoured here so I’ll be back in a mo’ when I’m done. Journal writing is on my list but this was not.
I know lots of people keep lists. Nothing new in that. My lists are so detailed and basic that I put each and every small, minuscule step on them. The only thing missing is peeing and I think I don’t put that on because it’s too spontaneous and automatic. Drinking water and brushing my teeth and hair gets on, as does dressing (with a note to be sure to include wearing a bra.)
Without a list, I stare off into space: lost, thirsty and hallucinating a mirage where all the world is clean and cool and green. No, that’s not true. It’s more like being in a void: a dark nothingness without thought, imagination or movement.