Just about everyone I know keeps lists, except my son Matthew, and even he has to keep a list of his work schedule each week because it changes from week to week. I love lists. Making lists is one of the free-time activities I indulge in, given a few minutes in a waiting room or in a plane when the electronic servants are cut off.  Ah, but following up on my lists is getting harder and harder.  I set myself too many tasks. I move items on from list to list and I do get a few things done but always and increasingly, the jobs proliferate and time dwindles and paper piles up. 

Is it easier for people with SmartPhones? Less oppressive, I suppose because there is no paper. They can list and delete, list and delete with impunity.  Impunity means they don't create a paper trail.  I'm like Linus in Peanuts - no, Linus was the kid with the blanket.  I'm like Pigpen - was that his name? - with his miasma of dust motes and beams following him.  I write on unused paper surfaces, usually torn into little shares or rectangles. It's very satisfying to complete a chore and toss the paper.  The key word is complete.  I carry little scraps of paper, piling up with procrastination or overoptimism. 

Oh dear.

It would be nice to be listless in a less pejorative meaning of the word.