lists. lists lists lists. i love lists because of how they organize my jumbled thoughts or tasks. a list neatly externalizes what seems so internally overwhelming and cluttered. and i love saying a word over and over and over again until you can feel it in your mouth. its meaning lost— now foreign and simply acoustic. lists lists lists lists lists lists lists.
a new year always calls for a weighty list of "resolutions." but that word has a begrudging feeling to it. a weariness before the task has even been started. i prefer to think of that most serious list as a list of intentions. a mindful setting forth. conscious steps towards goals.
a new calendar year also holds special intention because it's close to a new birth year for me. i'm embarking on a new lap around our burning star and i search within myself for that special star dust to warm my hands by. with notoriously cold hands (as my boyfriend can shiveringly attest to) this is the yearly reminder that i can warm my own.
so another year with me, another year with this world, and a list of long term intentions that perhaps i'll never get to check off, but have pulled out of myself to view and try to own up to. one of which is to write. to write because i want to, just for me. to write because i like words and i want to be better at manipulating them. to practice. to remember the satisfaction of creating a piece of writing.