I long for the days when I had a normal to-do list: “Buy bread” or “pick up dry-cleaning.” These days, all these normal everyday activities have been crowded out with “order paint samples,” “resolve countertop” and a few thousand “call Roy abouts.”
Actually, I’d be happy with just one list. About a year ago, coinciding with the purchase of this house, I started carrying a small spiral notebook everywhere because I just couldn’t kept track of everything I had to do. Now the lists stretch on for pages, interrupted with diagrams of our hallway or bathroom or attic, nonsensical scribbles and jottings that only make sense to me, and emergency contact phone numbers: our contractor, Lowe’s, and whatever granite place I’ve talked to most recently (I called at least 15 in the last 24 hours looking for a ¾-inch remnant of Azul Aran granite for our backsplash).
It doesn’t help that I’ve developed renovation-related dementia. All these details about countertops and tile and paint chips have crowded out other, non-essential brain functions, which is why last week I put salt in my coffee, and why I keep asking Joe the same questions even though the answers are written down in my notebook.