My List

This morning I timed how long it takes me to take my daily dose of Synthroid. The answer? 12 seconds from start to finish, not including the time it takes to make coffee, which I do anyway. I am bloody sick of seeing Sally Field hawk osteoporosis medication by talking about how she has poor, over-scheduled friends who have to “make time every week!” to take their pills. Make time? Honestly? It’s a miracle I manage to take a shower every day, what with all of the PILL TAKING I have to do.

I’ve become increasingly irritated by advertisements this week, which is no doubt the sign of a declining mind. I started screeching at the radio on my way to work this morning, not just because of the absolute horror that is Smack That (um, oh my God? ), but because some woman was trying to get us all to join in her her quest for a hair-free face, and claimed that she started with her “upper lip, chin and eyebrows – and that’s just the beginning!” The beginning. What, pray tell, is the end?

I distinctly recall watching my grandfather sit in his leather chair and alternate between laughing his face off at any commercials involving animals in clothing (I don’t know, but he was wearing a cardigan while he did it. Does that make it better?) and screaming at any ad that irritated him. I have that leather chair, and if I had thinning hair, the resemblance would be pretty uncanny.

I’ve also been enthralled with lists, which is a first for me, and while it thrills me to no end that finally I have some shred of organization, I’m approaching it with typical new-thing excitement, and have documented my entire life to an obsessive degree, and nearly planned out every second. Right now, for example, I am blogging under the 20 minutes of allotted time for the evening. There are showers to take! E-mails to return! Books to read! (I scheduled reading time. Is that sick?) There is absolutely no room for spontaneity, which, while good in the sense that keeping to a list stops me from idly sitting, staring into space for 45 minutes (which I’d done almost nightly), if something unexpected comes up, like my husband pausing The Office for me on the TiVo so we can watch it together, it can throw my whole night off. I stood there awkwardly and said, “But…but…this is snack time!”

Snack time. Because I am four.

And now, as pathetic as this entry is, it is actually shower time – or rather, it is WELL PAST shower time, because I did watch The Office, and am I the only one who just lost it when Pam started crying? Oh Pam. You blew it.

Have a great weekend.

*The Killers

18 comments January 4th, 2007