I love lists.

I always have.  Maybe it is because I don’t have enough time to write out longer, more detailed paragraphs, or maybe it is because they facilitate thoughts well.  Lists are a sort of poetry––free verse––that allow the eye to travel down a path of ideas completely unhindered by rules and formalities, unless, of course, the lists like that sort of thing.  I enjoy them because they give me an excuse to pull out ideas and put them in nice little piles.  Any time I want I can visit those piles and rearrange them or sift through them.  They are useful, unthreatening things (unless it is a to-do list, which is another beast entirely) that help me understand and remember the things and ideas in the world around me.  Lists let me make connections on my own, without demanding anything.  No formality, no constraints.  I can use numbers, or not.  I can write anywhere on the page, by hand, or by typing.  And best of all: I can put anything in them.

So, why this strange post about lists that may or may not be read by anyone?  Well.  I’ve really been in the mood for them lately, and I’ve written quite a few.  With life being absolutely bonkers right now, I haven’t had time to do “me stuff,” which includes writing things that aren’t essays or literary analyses.  I love writing, I really do.  And I want to keep loving it, which means allowing myself to use my words for something creative and good.  Although I can’t do this often, I have managed to keep my lists.  And I thought I might as well share them with you, whoever you may be.  It is my hope that you enjoy them.

Listfully…

Ashley