Listlessness

I love lists. I usually try to spend more time checking things off of them than making them, but the truth is, I'm better at the latter activity. That's the beauty and the beast of lists-- you might finish one, but there are always more opportunities, waiting like patient soldiers, to be put into their numbered lines. Most recently, we have been making lists of what to do before we all leave Louisiana. So far: 1. Eat a half pound burger at Port of Call.

2. Get Kate's wisdom teeth removed.

3. Take Kate's pain meds. Not really. Maybe.

4. Float down the banks of the Bogge Chitto and get mean sunburns.

5. Visit the dentist, the vet, the dermatologist, the taxidermist, and the school board office to ask Bankler about her redheaded dome covering and the post-observation she promised me and has bailed on three times.

6. Tell our landlord whose name we still don't know whose proper ownership of the house we're still unsure of that we will no longer be paying our sketchy rent into the muggy months.

*7. Find a job. *Big one.

8. Take pictures of all my favorite New Orleans corners.

9. Stop making lists and start doing real life things.