Monday, May 23, 2011


Last night panic swept over me.

I could not find my notebook. And I needed to write some lists. Desperately.

I became a list writer at uni when a kind person called Rachel on my
floor in halls took pity with my dishevelled disorganised self, and
helped me write some lists to cope with some essay writing or exam
revision or something. She also lent me a lavender scented candle to
light when I was working to make me feel calm. Or something like that.

(I hope I gave that back to her!)

It got me all the way through uni and through numerous
charity/church/volunteering things.

I'd write my list of things to do including everything I could think
off. Read that chapter. Wash your undies. Go to Pub. Eat Kebab.

And I'd work through them, and pass uncompleted items on to the next list.

Now I only write them when I have things I need to plan. Trips away,
content creation for websites. Writing them is comforting, satisfying,
a brain dump on a physical page.

So when I couldn't find my current notebook yesterday before bed I had
a bit of search, and decided I was too tired to look properly, so I
grabbed a notebook that was lying around and wrote in that. Such

The notebook I grabbed was one I'd use to track my accounts for a few
weeks as a student. It was amusing seeing "Kebab ??3.00" in the
outgoings column, and amazing seeing how little I lived on.

Tom's used a few pages to note down server details and scores from the
Marmer game.

I think I'll keep using it. It's spotty cover makes me smile. And I
still can't find the other damn one!

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