When I was little, I watched my mother make lists. Not only grocery lists, but menu lists, questions for the doctor lists, errand lists, card lists, if a list could be made, she made one. Accompanying her need to make lists was a strict admonition to never move the pen and pad from her list making area, which also happened to be right beside the telephone. Between me, my dad and my two brothers the pen got moved on a few occasions, because that was our last stop if we couldn't find a writing utensil anywhere else. The stealing of the pen was always followed by wrath of God stares and beratement by a woman who in normal company appeared to be the picture of polite and gentle solitude.
Tried though she might, my mother never managed to instill the propensity for making lists into my psyche. I try, now and then, to halfheartedly make a grocery list, but once I put the initial items I think of on it, whenever I think of more I never add to it, I simple decide to myself that I'll remember. Half the time I never even pull the list out of my purse when I am at the store. Of course, I am always sorry by the time I get home, because there is undoubtedly at least one item I've forgotten, usually something important that manages to be forgotten even through the next couple of trips to the store. I've done that with eggs the last three trips. Maybe Monday I'll get lucky.
I'm not sure exactly why I find making lists so odious. I think it might have something to do with the fact that I think my mind is more lucid than it actually is. Perhaps it is the fact that I hate having tiny pieces of paper around me. I know the luxury of having a supermarket across the street makes me feel more confident about forgetting something, knowing I can just run back over whenever the mood strikes me. The checkout lady knows us pretty well by now.
So far the absence of zealous listmaking hasn't really caused any problems in my life aside from a little inconvenience now and then. Someday I may need lists, but not yet. But god forbid you move my phone pen. Some things are innate, I guess.