I don’t like lists…

I don’t like lists…
I prefer putting the sorted pieces of my puzzling day together piece by piece…
In my days there is nothing to check off, so they are never complete…
But that’s okay.

For me lists have no emotion or excitement…
As blue as a jazz singer…
Like clothes so stiff they could stand on their own…
Or a book not living up to the promises of the cover.

Instead, I prefer words from a storybook…
The wobbly pastels and dots of red…
Prettying up dirt…
Vanishing beneath my blankets.

I guess I like a bit of chaos…
Things that are sticky and squishy…
I love finding a half-eaten piece of chicken…
Even if it is still stuck to a garbage bag.

My butler put me straight: He told me…
Annie, lists will keep you safe from snakes in out of the way places…
Safe from your own memory, fading away when you need it the most.

So, armed with pen and pencil I made a list.

1. Buy biscuits
2. Buy more biscuits
3. Go outside to poop
4. Go outside to grub
5. Go outside and roll in something stinky
6. Search intently for a chicken bone

He’s right! I now feel much better!

I love you,

Annie