Ok, so, I was writing down a list of possible topics for my entries here. Cause I want to act like an adult and make an effort and at least try to insert a smudge of organisation here. My life is completely unorganised, my home is a mess, and I write down my to-do tasks either on my hand or on post-its that I proceed to loose with mathematical precision. It’s like a well-choreographed performance. I am one of those people who will write down a list for the groceries and then forget it on their kitchen table. Result: I end up buying too much pasta and no toilet paper.
A smudge of organisation. See, I know for a fact that I will never be completely organised. I have friends who write down their appointments in their agendas, or diaries, or e-calendars. It’s beyond me. If I wanted to do that I would have to go all Faust on myself and sign a deal with the devil-potentially the shittiest deal ever made. ‘I wish to be organised, structured, methodical and visit the dentist at least once a year’. Devil would be like ‘You cray?’. Me ‘No. Where do I sign my immortal soul to you, oh evilest one?’
One cannot abandon hope. Strangest things have happened. Or, as they say worse things happen at sea (who says that, honestly? What is the basis of this saying? People who have seen giants squids, and the creepy fish with the light attached on their foreheads, that’s who says these things. I bet people saw that and though – well, that shit ain’t happening on dry land).*
I got very distracted from my original point. Which was meant to be about lists and how I realised that my first thoughts of topics about this blog would reduce feminists to tears. I swear, no.2 on my list (right below ‘pooping at work’ which was, ironically, no.1) was shoes. Fucking shoes. Does that mean that my initial and basic thoughts and aspirations revolve around poop and fashion?
I should hope not.
It was such a disturbing thought that I erased the word shoes from the list. I was in a bus while writing it on my notebook (because I can’t write it on my phone, like a normal person, I need to have the hard ends of my notebook jabbing someone’s rib cage) and there was a bump, so I half-erased my no. 3 on the list, which is my thoughts on the book ‘Little Women’, that I might do on my book club with my friends Mana and Jol. Because apparently I am 80 and I only care primarily about pooping and my book club.
Have I crossed to the other side of wisdom? Have I reached the part where you are so self-aware, you only care about the things that really make you happy?
I will write a new list. Or at least, I will throw away the shoes. But, dammit, I’m keeping ‘Little Women’.
*As I reread this I can only assume that my train of thought is clearly driven by Ozzy Ozbourne.