Doctor Moreau on a Concrete Island waiting for Godot

I have an obsession with lists and notes. This obsession cannot be quenched nor can it be silenced. Lists and Post-its litter my room and linger in its corners. There is a Post-it on my light switch that says, “Schedule.” I have a Post-it on my calendar that says, “Spanish? E-mail.” Indeed, there’s a list in front of me now that lists all my homework for this evening. I don’t mind my listed living; I tend to forget things if not reminded constantly. Book lists, however, are taking over my life. When I was in fifth grade, I got into the habit of making lists of books that I wanted to read. As these books were rented from the library and read, I highlighted the list in pink, to show what had been accomplished. As my interest in books grew and expanded, so did my lists. I had a “Must Read” list, and I had a “Beach Reads” list. I had a “Recommended List” that went on and on and listed books that friends and relatives had recommended. Today, I don’t bother categorizing books into certain lists. When I come upon a book title that sounds interesting, I write it on a spare piece of paper. This piece then has quite the journey as it gets lost multiple times, is worried over, is found, is recorded onto a larger list, and is considered for my “Ultimate List.” The Ultimate List is on my bulletin board and travels with me every time a sojourn is taken to the library. It’s a list of books that I really, really want to read and am slightly embarrassed about not reading yet. “In Cold Blood,” “Running with Scissors,” and “The Golden Compass” all reside on this list. “Dune” is the newest addition. I have a plethora of book lists in my desk that sit in a folder and occasionally see the light of day, but these lists are so vast that they tend to overwhelm me. A lot of Stephen King novels are on this list.