I used to catalogue facts, likes and dislikes about myself as a kid, thinking, I guess, this would make me more solid or real in who I was. I liked baths and Sylvia Plath, John Lennon, spaghetti, cats and the color green. I brushed my teeth with cold water and my ring fingers faced the wrong direction, Mary Tyler Moore was my favorite show and Cry Baby Cry was my favorite Beatles song.
Then I started to do lists of things I wanted to do before I die: speak a foreign language, run a marathon, live some where other than Missouri long enough to call it home.
Lately I’ve begun to realize the positives of reserving some time for non-list-making. I really like this cheesy movie, National Treasure, Book of Secrets. It’s not even the first, but the second movie, and it’s sort of an Indiana Jones knock-off. The fact that the movie comforts me has to at least be as important as the fact that I brush my teeth with cold water.