To Do Lists Are Not For Me

I made a to-do-list, anxiety crept in, sneaking quietly in an institutionalized way. Every time I saw this list, I began to tremble, feeling inadequate, worthless. I refused to begin, because the list was taking up all of my time, ruining it. This list stared at me from inside books, underneath lamps, beside my TV tray. On the second day, I thought I could master maybe one thing on the list. I looked at the first item and slammed shut harder than New Orleans in a hurricane. I kicked the list from room to room, because it had begun to steal my hours. It stole all of the happiness from my second day, and I allowed it, aiding it really. I tore the list up that night. My conscious hissed at me, took a little bite. Ouch! Today was the fourth day. I called people and promised them I would do the list tomorrow. They will not make me accountable, but now I will. My integrity will force me to do All three things I have allowed to ruin seventy-two hours of my life. I hate lists! I really do.