What is it about Lists that make them so wonderfully calming? The structure, outlining and grouping things that were previously gray yarns of angst and avoided demands. The promise that all that was Undone will soon be checked off, by that sweet little tick in the corner, and in turn it will have been swept away from my minds dusty corners.
If I could only get a moment to myself, I could maybe begin to think about writing a list. Then I could plan for a day to execute. Then I could believe I was actually on my way to making something of myself, of my time. The days, they seem endless. I revel in swimming around Manhattan's shores and in my open ended ticket here. But I cannot twiddle my thumbs eternally.
Being here is too good for me to waste away in Routine.
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