To Do List Seeks Amnesty

My to do list is sorry.

"What have we learned?" I asked it the other day. It would barely look at me.

"My eyes were bigger than my stomach," it mumbled.

"I'm sorry, I couldn't make that out."

"My eyes were bigger than my stomach," it says, eyes flashing up at me.

I raised my eyebrows and pursed my lips. "Do you think that's really called for?" I asked.

There was no response. We sat there for several minutes. I whistled a bit, feet up on the empty guest chair in my cubicle. I checked my watch; scrolled through the phone book on my cell. The list began to stir a bit, rustling it's wrinkled pages.

"I just wanted..." it began. I looked up from clipping my fingernails.

"I just wanted to do my part," it said. "I just wanted to make a contribution, to give you some direction, some inspiration..." It paused again and looked at me. I was studying my fingernails.

"Umm," I said.

"I thought," it started again. "I thought if you had a big list - you know - a really comprehensive list that... that each of your next actions would really become clear - self-evident, really."

I looked up sharply. "Have you been talking to the inbox?" I said.

"Never mind all that," it said, ignoring me. "I'll be good from now on." It seemed to make a swallowing sound.

"I promise."

My Inbox Wants to Be Free

"If information wants to be free," says my inbox, "then why can't I be included in that?"

"Have you been reading Getting Things Done again?" I say. "You know that makes you cranky."

"I'm cranky now? Is that it? Am I Tibet to your China? Why don't you say it to my face?"

"I just did."

"No, I mean now. Say it now."

I sigh. "David Allen makes you cranky. There. I said it."

"And why would that be? Hmmm? Ever think about that?"

I think about ordering up an order of bacon from the restaurant next door. They make a good western omelet, too.

"You're thinking about food again, fatty," says my inbox.

"That's personal," I say. "And how do you know what I'm thinking about?"

"I know you," it says. "I read your mail."

"Oh boy," I say, shaking my head and rolling my eyes.

"And read it and read it and read it some more. It just sits there in my inbox and uses up cycles and disk space, and not to mention all the 'open loops' in that wrinkled little thing you call a mind."

"It's 'open loops' today, huh?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" says the inbox.

"It was 'next actions' last time," I say.

"Those are important, too!"

I decide to close Outlook. The disk churns madly, its LED blinking so rapidly that it goes solid for a moment. Then something like a quiet burp, and a blue screen silently swims into view. General protection fault. Freedom doesn't come cheap.

Is Impatience One of the Seven Deadly Sins?

There are famously two kinds of people in the world: the patient and the impatient. One is a virtue and the other is a pain in the neck. Just how you view this lack of patience usually depends on the identity of the person lacking it.

When it's me, it's simply that I'm frustrated. When it's you, you're being unbearable, unreasonable, and some unsavory type of toxic something. In fact, when I'm the impatient one, good reasons exist and have caused me to lose patience. I'm late to work and someone's vehicle is in front of my vehicle and is preventing me from achieving an acceptable cruising speed and normally I would be glad to give them all the sightseeing time they feel they need, but right now, today, time is the one thing I don't have, and so would you get your vehicle out of my way right now?

I need to just pull over and get some coffee or something. Not gum, because tooth action just begets violence. There's enough of that in the world.

I wonder how much violence is the result of impatience...

I could pull over and just call the office and let them know that today is not a good day so far, and in a brave, bold attempt to head off certain disaster I am simply phoning in my intention to get there as quickly as possible, without killing anyone first. That means something to me, and I would think that it might mean something to them, especially if they want to see that database updated anytime soon.

I could even - and this is a worst case scenario - I could tell them that I will stay late by however much to make up for it. The point (and this is in a totally David Allen, GTD kind of way) is to simply eliminate the toxicity (tox - iss - it - tee) from your body. It's like a psychic anti-oxidant!

My response to the bad ju-ju of impatience? Just let it go.