I am drowning in a sea of Post-it notes. All sizes and colors. Veritably drowning. They’d been meant to corral my ever-distractable brain, to keep me focused and on point. But my Post-it note habit is proliferating at an alarming rate. I get to staring at the little neon squares tacked to my monitor, flapping on the edge of my bulletin board in the late-afternoon breeze, fluttering out of my planner and into the dusty crack between the desk and the wall, and I am driven to a markedly more immense distraction. I find them in my pockets and on the bottoms of my shoes, even, with strange and indeciperable mumblings scrawled across from them. Directions to places I don’t recollect visiting. Foreign-sounding names and phone numbers. Strange clumps of words that I cannot piece together. I’ll spend hours pondering them. Well, maybe only minutes that feel like hours. They point the way to something meaningful, I am sure. But I’ve lost the scent and am now only wandering around in circles in the scrub, looking dazed, losing time.
I want to do some huge crazy art project with them. You know, where you make some huge mosaic on the side of a building with a jillion little sticky notes and in their totality they make a face, or a word, or a landscape? I think I’ll start saving the little nonsensical bits and maybe in 10 years I can decorate my entire house with them. And it will be proof of how I’ve spent my days. Chasing strings of words. Occasionally wresting something meaningful from the jibberish, but mostly just scratching my head in wonderment and reassembling the stubborn, nonsensical bits into new and equally indecipherable configurations, over and over again.