I’m going to tell you a story about lists. We think lists are good, and this is true like a fork or a shotgun. Good, useful, dangerous, painful.
I’m going to tell you about lists of friends, and some of them are friends, and some of them are not.
I’m going to say, we keep LISTS of grievances.
I have a running list in my head, and I call it NED, and it’s a demon that lives in the woods.
We keep track of petty shit, mostly because we’re afraid.
We keep track of things we don’t like about someone else, mostly because we don’t want to talk, even if it means breaking up.
Our tiny lists,
like pythons,
strangle us.
Lists of “good” and “bad” people, based upon some arcane criteria of hate or disgust.
Lists of “non-human” and therefore disposable people, a list of 3 doctors in Canada gets you the cruise to Valhalla.
I suffer from depression, periodically, and it helps me to keep a list of things that make me happy – if the list gets to one or two, then it’s time to “phone a friend”, so to speak.
There’s the Burger King stage, where if you’re really depressed, but someone asks you “want some Burger King”, you say yes: because you’re still out of the worst parts of depression.
So I keep a list that keeps me alive, and happy, and grateful – as much as an old curmudgeon can be, in 2023 Boblimptock.
So some lists good, some lists bad – be wise, like Solomon.
