Just B.

Or so I hear. We manage (as a society I suppose) to put everything and anything into list form. We have everything from the mundane, i.e. grocery lists, to the completely unnecessary and irrevocably stupid, i.e. 301 Useless Facts (which yes, does exist), and it’s all so productively, prettily, put into a dandy list. Now- here’s where this post reaches the point of…er, a point. I have a habit of eluding lists consciously, as if they were descendants of the bubonic plague. I haven’t the foggiest idea why. I suppose neat, orderly, things make me cringe a bit.

I’ve concluded that in this disastrously, ugly, mess of a time in my life, perhaps the list will reel me back toward the mid-ground between ‘put-together’ and ‘falling apart’. Seems we’ll find out soon enough.

And so- in light of the list, here’s a freaking list.

To fucking-do.

• finish my damn writing portfolio
• clean my apartment (It’s fucking ground zero.)
• find a new place to live
• paint!
• hassle the government for new hearing aids
• get the hell out of Rochester for a weekend
• listen to Minipop every second of the day
• kidnap Katelyn Smith
• get my ass to the gym (Boo.)
• make more lists

Oh hai.