I went looking for some explanation for the wonderfully useful phrase ‘a to do’. It describes to me some minor conflict, a bit of a fuss. Such as a divergence of opinion between mother and daughter, perhaps. What I found were pages and pages of information on how to produce a ‘to do’ list. Methods, designs, strategies, apps. Nobody suggested a pencil and a bit of paper.
I need lists. I hate lists.
A ‘to do’ list. Ugh. At worst, it is a long list of things I don’t know how to do.
A ‘to do’ list. Great. At best, it helps me organise my mind, define small, achievable steps. It’s motivating.
Of course, I never know what to expect. What will the list mean today; will it be the elephant or the teaspoon?
Last week I was busy, I was exhausted, I felt good. I felt the unusual warm glow of competence. There were no miracles, but I knew I was making progress with things I wanted to do. Now I have to manage that, not get over enthusiastic. Pace myself.
This week I got to be sociable, and to restart some of the more mundane aspects of the voluntary work. Envelope stuffing is not inspiring, but is necessary. A different charity came to take away furniture and fireplace and hopefully will make some money from them. The new sofas arrived. Yay!
Hmmm … the post bereavement flurry of displacement decorating is pretty much over.
Time for a new to do list?