I'm just a tad compulsive when it comes to getting things done. I admit to lists everywhere and, yes, I'll admit to putting things on my lists that I've already done, just for the satisfaction of crossing them off.
I write on a schedule, Monday-Saturday, usually from 6:30 a.m. until something else demands my time, up to lunch. What I write on those mornings changes. On Mondays I do business-related stuff, but the rest of the week I work on the current novel. At odd times I catch up on non-fiction writing stuff, like a newsletter I do for a local group and blog posts for guesting on other bloggers' sites.
Afternoons are spent on the rest of life, although I've been known to continue through the day when a book is coming together. Evenings are my time to edit. While I can seldom compose at that time of day, I can reread and correct structural and grammatical mistakes.
I also have a schedule for the rest of life, which my kids make gentle fun of from time to time. I like to do all the household chores on Monday: laundry, cleaning, and other maintenance work. The rest of the week I choose my chores according to my mood and the weather. Gardening, lawn work, and maintaining outbuildings are summer work, and closet-cleaning and clerical upkeep are for days when outside isn't inviting. I have (yet another) list from which I choose what sounds doable to me on a given day.
Do I sound like an overly organized person? Maybe, but I doubt that I am. If someone says, "Let's do lunch" or "Let's drive to ______ today," I'm more than willing to toss the schedule aside. Yes, there are all those lists, but that's the purpose of writing it down: I can forget it today and pick it up again sometime in the future.