Titles Don't Matter

I used to have clients in my mental health days that were obsessive list-makers and note-takers. One in particular whose purse and pockets strained at the seams to hold all of the scraps and lists and reminders she scribbled and scrawled maniacally, all day long. And this, I am realizing, is the path I am on. I am surrounded by scraps of paper, scrawled with illegible words and cryptic abbreviations, in my car, my desk, my bag, my house. And they are telling me to do and not forget things that I have not done and certainly forgotten. Birdy's cardiologist appointment. (Hello again, heart murmur!). Freelance deadlines. Patient details. Invitations. Repairs. Things to buy. Things to make. Food. A reciept with "CW Pr. Sht" written on the back.

This one is a favorite, on a little yellow sticky note hidden under the phone on my desk, so simple and complete I thought I should share it.

Car: stalling
Car: leaking
Car: buying?

Lunch Magic
I know that nobody cares what I had for lunch (as evidenced here), but I want to tell you about this amazing meal I am trying to eat quickly so that it does not become buried in lists:
Handful of Spinach
Cut up tomato (grape tomatoes would have been ideal, but I'm doing my best)
Chickpeas
Chunks of mozzerella
Drizzle of Balsamic Vinaigrette.

It is spectacular, and that isn't even the magical part! I'm using a plastic fork to eat it, and it's one of the ones with the kind of thin stubby tines on it, so sometimes when I hit a chickpea just the right way it kind of bends the tine back and fwaps the chickpea to the other side of the plate. And just now, I tried to spear a rogue chickpea, and Floink! It shot right up the sleeve of my sweater! Almost made it up to my elbow! Like a pinball flipper into a pinball... something! Like pinball! Chickpea-sleeve pinball. And nobody saw it but me.