List Maker, List Maker

I’ve become a tireless list maker. Grocery lists, to-do lists, lists for what the kids each need to bring to school, lists of things I want to do, lists of everywhere I’ve submitted resumes, lists of clothes the kids need to replace those they’ve outgrown, lists of possible topics to write about. It goes on and on. Some are mental lists, but most are lists that I’ve written down on post-its or random pieces of paper. Notes on my computer are also fairly numerous. I’ve found that my once impossibly accurate memory is now full of big, sucking holes. And almost everything that I need or want to remember disappears into these holes never to be seen again.

I should probably make some sort of list central desk or something at which to keep all of my notes and random thoughts I’d like to be able to find again. Because the only thing more irritating than forgetting something important is losing the paper that I wrote it down on so that I didn’t forget it. And this happens frequently.

There is a part of me that rebels against the need to make all of these lists. That is just positive that if I keep practicing remembering things that the holes will seal themselves back up and I can go back to remembering every little bit of trivia and happenstance. But at this point I’m fairly sure that the holes were created, permanently ripped into (or away from?) my memory sometime during childbirth. Before I had The Boy, I could remember how just about everyone I had ever known took their coffee. After? I couldn’t even remember how I took my coffee. And it only got worse after The Girl arrived.

My memory was always a great source of pride for me. With the exception of being able to remember birthdays, they’ve always eluded me for some reason, I could always recall some important thing about everyone I knew or had ever known.

And now, as I’m reconnecting with some dear friends, I find myself playing tug of war with those holes in my memory. Trying to regain the snippets of memory along with the friendship.

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