Love me, love my list

Realizing that I have my shrink appointment today, I finally got down to business and compiled the list. As you might imagine, thinking up reasons why one likes oneself is an excruciating exercise, but I think I finally have something that will make my therapist understand how much progress I've made since last week.

In my usual fashion, I put things off until the last possible moment, and scribbled some ideas on a small scrap of paper, first on the subway, then later in a cab, and finally, at my desk at work (which accounts for the different pens. I had to borrow one from the taxi driver.)

Everything was going really well until one of my colleagues saw "Nice clavicles" written in red and stopped mid-sentence.

"Are you writing someone a love letter?" he asked. This would be a natural assumption, since people have complimented each other's clavicles in letters throughout the ages.

"Yes," I said. "This cubicle puts me in the mood for loooooove. It must be all the beige."

"Who is the letter for?" he asked. Nosy bastard.

"It's a letter to myself. Well, not a letter, but a list." I said, sounding startlingly confident and breezy.

"..."

I could see the word "loser" bouncing across the inside of his brain. Did I care? Apparently not.

"What else have you got?" he asked, peering over my list, which I was shielding protectively.

I let him read it. After taking it in, he thought for a moment.

"You should put 'Good at fixing jumbo stapler' on your list. No one here knows how to use that thing besides you."

"Thank you," I said gravely. "I will definitely add that to my list."