List-itis

Like most of us, I suffer from many maladies. Some of them are real, but a large majority of them, I've been led to believe, probably are not.

During my youth, for example, I suffered debilitating, nearly fatal, food allergies to anything that could be misconstrued as healthy. Boy, that was rough period of my life!

My latest malady, however, seems to go in a different direction entirely. It seems I suffer from a chronic case of needtamaykalistitis.

This disease has managed to integrate itself into almost every aspect of my life. On my iPhone alone I have lists of potential blog posts, songs I want to download, books I want to purchase, my ongoing Christmas list, my gluten ingredient list and my 'to get' list for items I need from my little pharmacy.

On my computer, I have a running, continual list of all the novels I've read since my teen years. Yes. It's long. I have a notebook with a numbered list of countries that have viewed Fuzzy, Black Dogs. (It's 62, in case you're wondering.)

My strange need for lists has seeped into other areas of my life as well. The first thing I do upon arriving at work? I make a list, of course. There are few things as gratifying as a checked off list of things to do.

I can't even walk into a grocery store without a list in hand. There's no telling what would come home if I didn't have my list.

My wife recently sent me to the store for three items. I pulled out my ever present pen and began to write them down, but she quickly stopped me.

"You don't need a list for three items," my wife said. "Butter, baked beans and bedding. Three things. Remember B-B-B. You can do this! Butter, beans, bedding!"

I went to the store chanting butter, beans and bedding. Butter, beans and bedding. I grabbed a cart. Butter, beans, bedding. I rolled into the store. Butter, beans, bedding.

Imagine my surprise when I arrived home with butter beans, beer and bacon nestled innocently in my grocery bag! My cashier must have switched bags on me. Pretty sneaky.

I think the lists are due to the massive amounts of knowledge I've crammed into my brain. By writing down the nonessential things, I make sure there's room to cram more important things.

My wife, being the awesome woman she is, seems to have figured this out as well. That would explain the "butter beans bedding" text I received on my second trip to the store.