Because I need the pretense of organization to conceal the complete mess that is my life. It’s so simple to just write everything down, to structure a concrete plan with each hastily scribbled phrase. Succinct and unavoidable, these lists give me a lulling comfort even if that ease turns out to be unfounded. And so, my desk and walls are plastered with pieces of paper, blending into a sea of neon colors and purposeful handwriting. 

But paper is just paper and words are just words. At the end of the day, week, month, year…these lists are quickly reduced to trash and become merely empty promises of an optimistic future.