They say women silently make lists in their minds – and in their eyes – during sex.

I make mine on the bus and in the shower. I write mine on the mirror and the back of my hand. I make mine for shopping, packing, working, emailing, remembering. I make lists all the time, slicing up pieces of time, giving each a name such as “fixing tire of bike” and a position on the big clock, taking it off my mind, constantly hoping it’ll get done.  I have the disease, listmakingness. The symptoms are scribbles everywhere, one ‘-‘ after the other, using up precious time for planning other events into my time.

If I were to stop the listmakingness by taking the delistmedicine that would clear my mind and make more space for playing, I could use the present to check off. I would have more time. But then again, I would dewoman myself, too, deplanizing myself, never knowing what’s next, just kind of waiting for it. Oh that would be too weird. So, I guess..after all, it’s ok, the listmakingness. Except, of course, during sex.