I can't find my list. I had a grocery list and another list -- 2 separate pieces of paper -- both of which I cannot find. I am disturbed by losing my grocery list; but losing the other list, that I can't remember what was on it, is making my heart beat in my throat.
I NEED MY LISTS.
Last week, I was carrying them around and they blew out of the car. "OH MY GOD! That was a close one," I thought as my foot landed on it, securing it from the wind and allowing me to pick it up. That moment of the list blowing threw the parking lot was enough to awaken in me the idea that losing my lists in NOT a possibility that I can handle.
Dave is going to be home all day today, the first time in over two weeks. I awoke with great determination to accomplish, well, far more than reasonable. My high expectations, along with two cups of coffee has put me in such an accelerated, frazzled mode of being, that finding my list is my only hope of a cure. Without my list, I'm just a frenzied ball of energy. A spinning Tasmanian Devil with no aim.
"Just make a new list," Dave says. Calmly. Rationally.
I can't concentrate, though. My mind is stuck on "where could I have left it? What was on it?"
I can lose my diamond wedding ring. Fine. Insurance can replace it and I'm not the sentimental sort, anyway. Things are replaceable.
Lose one of my children -- no worries. The finder, after an hour, will likely move heaven and earth to find their rightful owner.
But a LIST? Can't lose that. That is my map for the day. The thing that gives me my breath back. It points me in the right direction. Anchors me. Let's me know all things are in order. Under control.
Make a new list? I don't think so.
If you'll excuse me, I'm going to dig through the garbage one more time.
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