Fasting from the To-Do List

All my life I've striven to be as efficient and productive as possible. I judge myself, relentlessly, by what I accomplish, produce, have to show for myself at the end of the day to justify taking up space on the planet. This has never made me happy, and really, has probably made me more neurotic and less efficient than most every other mental illness I possess.

So I've decided that one of my goals during my Jentel residency is to be inefficient, for one reason if none other: inefficient people don't commit genocide. To paraphrase Eddie Izzard, to succeed in committing genocide one must get up very early in the morning.

I haven't been getting up early, and today, I napped. I didn't mean to, didn't want to (I don't nap well as a general rule--never have--I'm afraid I'm missing something). But after lunch I was feeling woozy, rather dizzy and ill, so I lay down. I was well-caffeinated, as I always am by that point in the day, so I was certain I wouldn't fall asleep. I promptly did.

I woke 90 minutes later feeling guilty as hell. For what you ask? Well, resting. And in the middle of the day no less, when there's work to be done. I mean who do I think I am, Mrs Astor or something? (Oh my God; I'm channeling my mother).

I think I am a tired woman fighting a bug. Unfortunately, in the minefield that is my mind, that's not good enough. Not for napping in the middle of a Sunday afternoon. Not when there's work to be done.

Now, there is a part of my brain that is sufficiently not crazy that I recognize that maybe this is kind of a little bit crazy. And that part of my brain notices something else: it is winter.

In our new life on the land, we have been trying to live more seasonally, which is to say in the warm seasons you bust your ass, you work crazy hours all day and very hard, and in the winter you rest, in no small part so that you will actually have a self to work hard when the earth thaws.

This is the last month of deep rest I can expect till November. The fine folks who host this residency have already told us we should feel no pressure here to produce or perform, essentially that we should view our residency as a time to rest, recuperate, dream, play, do whatever we please, within the limits of decorum of course. Or at least, if we're going to go outside the limits of decorum we should "keep it in town." These good people recognize that creativity is an expression of play and imagination and does not follow a 9-5 schedule.

I told myself when I got up this morning (after putting in 12 hours yesterday) that today was a day off. Unfortunately, the working definition of "day off" in our culture is, of course, a day to get everything else done that you didn't get done during the week.

Enter my class politics. "Oh, how nice for you, Ms. Privileged, Ms. You-Call-Yourself-Working-Class? YOU don't have to work all day on your days off because YOU are being spoiled rotten for contributing no more to the planet than your stupid imaginary characters, your words. You're not sweating, not breaking your back for your family, or the people, or some evil master. Why are YOU entitled to rest?"

It's fun, isn't it, being me?

So, I've decided to fast. Not from food of course (hello, it's me). And certainly not from caffeine. From to-do lists. For the next week I am not permitted to make or follow a to-do list (of course, I have plenty of them hanging from the bulletin board--overall, general, organized by category, organized by day, yadda, yadda, yadda...really, it's impressive). The two to-do lists I have for today, sitting to my left, are getting crumpled up and thrown away even though most of what is on them hasn't been done yet.

I can't tell you how much anxiety this causes me. You see, I have a terrible memory. Have my entire life. My mother said it was because my head was in the clouds, my husband says it's because I have too much on my plate, a physician who hasn't known me long would probably say it's because I'm approaching menopause. I don't know what it is, just that it is. To-do lists give me the illusion that I will not get in trouble for forgetting to do something.

Since at age 42 an unemployed feminist without children should not, in my opinion, feel fear about the possible repercussions of forgetting to do something, I'm trying out this little decolonization step.

My theory is this: if it's important, if it's something I want to do, something I need to do, I'll do it. If it fits those categories and I don't do it, maybe it's because I'm exhausted, or sick, or ran out of time, and not because I'm inherently defective.

It's partly about trying to live in the moment, to be a more natural person, "out of my head" in a good way. And it's partly about trying to accept myself for being rather than doing.

I also have a theory that, sans to-do list, I will actually be very productive. I just won't remember from one moment to the next what I've been producing.

As for those things I don't want to do? Well, if I've given my word, I'll do it, mostly because I really dislike the person I am--a person I can't trust, and neither can you--when I give my word and I don't do it. But someday, in the next year or two, I hope to be a mother as well as the caregiver of dairy goats and laying hens. I will have other breathing beings dependent upon me for survival. This may be the last time in my life I can ever not do something because I don't want to. I think I need to take advantage of that.

Wish me luck.