Yes, work. We do that sometimes, even though we don’t have employers. I have lists and lists and lists and lists of stuff filled with various things in multiple forms of media. I have no less than 6 lists on my desk written on paper. In neat little writing with red ink, because I like red ink. I have no less than a dozen spreadsheets and documents with various projects and their attending tangential tasks.
It sounds organized, but it’s not. It’s not a neat, healthy pile of lists on my desk. It’s a sloppy, spreading, cancerous pile of lists, threatening to swallow every surface. I write things down so I can forget about them. I used to have a notebook to keep everything in, and I kept it in my pocketbook. But now I don’t go anywhere. My desk is where I spend most of my time, so that’s where everything lives. And I do need separate lists, because I have separate projects. And I can’t cross-contaminate my lists because I’m a whackadoodle and it would screw up my whole life.
I have a spreadsheet with various columns for various projects and boy, it’s the bees knees. It’s perfect. Except it’s a spreadsheet. And as I’m buzzing around in my life, my tendency is to whip out my red pen and write a thought on paper. Hence, the pile of lists above. I’m not a complete dufus, I take all my little red notes (the ones I can find) and I plug them into the spreadsheet. I cross off the stuff I’ve accomplished, and add new stuff under the various columns. Then I print the list, and try to keep it visible amidst my chaos. And when a new thought occurs, the printed spreadsheet is where I write it down. If I can find it.
So yeah, working on stuff. More soon on that.
AND! By the way! August was this blog’s highest traffic month ever, so fricken thank you! Thank you new readers. Thank you old readers. Thank you curious googlers looking for picture of boobs. I wuv you all.