consummed by LISTs

I have never experienced writer’s block.
Not that I am a writer.
Or profess to be one.

The problem I have is over enthusiasm.
An overactive mind.
I can think of 3 to 5 disparate thoughts simultaneously.
Similar to multitasking.
But with the latter, you are usually using different body parts or committing actions in separate physical spaces.

With thoughts, it’s all cramped up in a squishy manner between the ears; though when spread out I believe it is as large as a football field … if memory serves me right and if my biology teacher wasn’t delivering hog wash.

So, it does get mangled and confused occasionally.
OK. Confused all the time!

Well, I’ve mentioned a few blog entries earlier on about LISTs.
Coming up with my LISTs. LISTs. LISTs.
Yeah, I started.
And it got pretty comprehensive and complex – a web of networks exploding from complex databases neatly tucked in the folds of my brain matter.

When I finally sat down.
Ready to commit pen to paper.
Not-a-thing seems important enough. Meaningful enough.

I realised I didn’t want to be caught up with myself trying to cross out items on a list.
Or dictate how/who with regards to me and my things.

I realised if I am the REASON, then the quantity of commitments or actions will not be important. The quality and experience will speak volumes.

I realised that if I am the REASON, then how/who with regards to me and my things will be a non-issue.

Simple because if I am the REASON, no words need to be communicated. No explanation will be needed. No instructions needs to be thought out and delivered.

Because, when I am the REASON, I will have been unconditionally accepted and understood.

Pretty grand, huh?
Well, life should be lived this way… the only definition of grandeur.
And not be deluded with plutonomy.
.
.

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