Magic Eight Balls

Sometimes she wishes more than anything that she had a crystal ball--so she might know what to expect, so she can plan.

Because, boy, is she a planner. Lists galore. Lists by her bedside. Lists on the refrigerator door. Lists in her bags and in her head. Things to do. Things to buy. Things to bring. Menus. Activities. It's her small way of taking control, of making order, of prioritizing.

Mail taxes.

Mexican rice w/chicken.

Cotton balls.

A crystal ball would be so helpful, she thinks. Priorities would be set, neat lines with small check marks after each one. Time would be wisely spent. Order would reign in her small bubble, where everywhere else lies chaos.

Lentil and bulghur soup.

Cheesebread.

Order more checks.

Sometimes she just wishes she knew what was in store. When would this problem sort itself out? When would she finish her novel? If only she knew, then she could be calm.

Toothpaste.

Lasagna Bolognese.

Call cable company.

But on the way home from the doctor's office, she realizes that sometimes one doesn't want to know what's in store. One doesn't want to know the future, especially if the future is laid out with clarity.

One shake of the magic eight ball. Do you want to know the future?

"Don't count on it."

She pulls out a piece of scrap paper. Time for a new list.

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