I’ve never written a response to ‘The Daily Post‘ before, but for some reason today’s caught my eye and resonated with me.
I found an old notebook the other day. And it was full of lists.
I have countless notebooks, I always buy the small A6 ones when I see them, they fit nicely in to any bag and it means I’ve always got a pen and paper to hand when inspiration hits, or I need to write a list, or I’ve just thought of something amusing and want to remember it.
I don’t know if it’s just because I have such an affection for the written word that I need to physically write something down to remember it, but I’ve found that unless I’ve made that extra step and put pen to paper, whatever you just told me is probably not going to be logged in the ol’ grey vaults as accurately as it perhaps should.
Right now, levels are stress are sky high. We know that.
They have been for months, so I’m kind of used to those sky high levels of stress, so when something else gets added to the pile it’s quite literally the worst thing ever. Ever, ever.
I’m not helping myself, but telling myself that I’m too stressed and not helping myself and to ‘chill out’ is on par with telling a depressed person to ‘buck up’.
Entirely demoralising and insensitive.
My mind is a million miles an hour and pinging from one place to another.
It’s taken me three attempts to sit down long enough to write this post, because somehow it seems that if I’m doing four jobs at once I’m more efficient than if I just do one and do it well.
I have lists of lists. To do lists, lists of lists to write, packing lists, evidence lists.
All in their own unique order.
I have a planning book for our SE Asia tour and when Zac suggested I put Vietnam in the book first I nearly flipped out.
“Zac. Then. It. Wouldn’t. Be. In. Chronological. Order.”
He didn’t get it.
It’s a form of order. Of keeping things orderly. Of ensuring things are compartmentalised in my head. In their own little boxes.
It’s minimising my guilt for doing fun things, for not working 12 hours a day (because that would certainly be helpful).
Minimising my guilt for hanging out with my sis instead of pawing over books or going through possessions again and again in the vain hope this repeated process will create more order and magically tell me what needs to be shipped back and what needs to stay.
I like lists.
They make me happy.
And I’m getting better at ticking off things on my lists.
Even if I’m putting simple things on there I definitely know I’ll tick off, it helps the productivity.
I’ve always been anal. Always liked some order amongst the chaos. Always had my books ordered by genre and then alphabetically, same for DVDs and CDs. My clothes are in order: work clothes, sports clothes, leggings, trousers, skirts, dresses, tops – sorted in to season.
Tidy house, tidy mind.
Or something like that.
The biggest thing for me, and for Zac, is having a clear bed.
While the bed takes up the majority of the room, we always make the effort to keep the bed clear. It’s our one clutter free zone, where we chill out, watch TV, eat (bad habits that certainly don’t help with my sleeping patterns), our little space in an overcrowded house.
Tidy the bed and it instantly feels like a weight has been lifted.
I just changed the bed.
The suitcases had been on it while we packed the first batch of ‘things’ for shipping back home, to Australia. They’re on the floor, taking up 100% of the remaining bedroom space, but the bed is clear. The sheets smell delicious and I’ve stopped sweating. It’s been a stress sweat kind of day.
It’s the little bit of order that I need.
It’s where we start and end the day, so no matter what crazy mess the middle parts are at least we begin and end orderly.