The List

Her days were long and empty and it was that belief with which Arundhati woke up again that day. She sat up looking at the bed to be made, instead choosing to saunter down the stairs, mentally beginning to make a list.

Having put the coffee on, she went back up to take a shower. She stood still in front of the mirror, teasing her hair. It had grown longer than she preferred, the curls having gone coarse and more unruly if that was even possible. She ran her fingers through them, untangling as she went down, countless times. As if mesmerized. Knowing she needed to go get her hair cut soon, she mentally revised her list, reminding herself to make an appointment.

She sat down with her coffee, beginning to make a list of things to do for the day. It seemed to give her a purpose, the longer the list, the more purposeful she felt. So she broke down the most banal chores. Doing the laundry read as
1. Run the washer
2. Run the dryer
3. Fold the clothes
That’s three more things to do vis-à-vis just one. Longer the list, the better she felt.

She looked at the list, there was not one line drawn against any of that which she had written. The list sat all day silently reprimanding her. She understood what she had to get done but the list made her angry. Angry at what her days had been reduced to. Angry that she found nothing else to put on that list. But for now, she let that pass. She knew she’d feel better tomorrow when she wakes up. She’d have that list to tackle then.

And today when she does finally go back up to sleep and gets into the bed that had never been made, resolutely decides from tomorrow things would be different.

Another item. Check.