Wednesday, November 24, 2010

Note To Self

I keep a stack of Post-It notes on my desk.

There are more wrapped in cellophane in an office supply basket on a shelf above it.  I am constantly making new lists, so I use a lot of these things.  I prefer the simple blank square pads with no writing or graphics on them because the images and jokes on the other ones distract from my note's main message, and any message that's already limited to a few words at most should be as readable as possible.  I don't want to see your sketches when I'm trying to arrange my laundry list, or when I jot down an improptu quote from The Wizard of Oz (1939) ("Silence whippersnapper!"), which is currently stuck to the lower frame of my computer monitor.  Sorry.

So, the sticky note pads with cartoons (one, from the Stik-Withit brand collection, reads, "It's not easy being Queen!" with a garland of jewels drawn at its top border) get shuffled to the bottom of the stack once a replenishment of blank ones can be provided from the supply closet of my latest office job.  Consider the cartoon note pads the plan-D, the ALDI grocery store, or the AirTran Airways of the sticky note collection: they are not my first choice, but if they come cheap enough (e.g. free) I'll take them.

I've been good about getting through the cartoon notes lately, because I just want to GET RID of the FUCKING THINGS.  So I come to the last pad in the stack, and on the top sheet of which reads a message I left for myself at least a year ago, in purple felt-tip pen, in uncharacteristically scrawled handwriting, and that I presume held enough meaning then that warranted me writing it down: