I’m an addict. Post-it notes are my drug of choice (this is not the first time I’ve had to admit to a paper-based dependence). They feather the inside covers of every notebook. But like most intoxicants I wonder if they are finally getting the better of me. I wonder if the thrill of usage is being undercut by the comedown. The realisation grows that while I clearly had a great time while using I have no recollection of the high. Instead I am left with tattered squares covered with scribbles that strive to remind me of the ride.
I make these notes to let my pen catch up with my thoughts. But I wonder if my notation is letting me down. I’m starting to struggle to decode myself. I’m finding initials and scratches of phrase that mean nothing. I knew I had a problem when the other day I found a stern command in bold capitals to ‘WRITE ABOUT D & G’ with no idea who or what this refers to, but I’m fairly sure it’s not Dolce & Gabbana. Maybe this is how it looks when a writer loses their mind.
And while they are of little use if they don’t remind me of what I wanted to remember at least they form a strange poetry of their own. And if my jottings were intended to be a sprinkled line of breadcrumbs to lead me home that has clearly failed - but at least I’ve fed the birds.