Yellow squares in front of my eyes

For­give me, but I cur­rently have an insane desire to com­mu­nic­ate. And my chosen method of com­mu­nic­a­tion? Post-it notes, of course. The ori­ginal yel­low square vari­ety, none of your mod­ern new-fangled fluor­es­cent orange arrows or pink stars or lurid green circles. Yel­low. Square. Line of sticky stuff on back.

And my plan for these post-it notes? Write mes­sages on them in my regret­tably rather too dis­tinct­ive scrawl, then place them in loc­a­tions where people I know will find them, look wide-eyed with con­cern, and then think: “Oh, I do believe he’s los­ing it again”.

Let me cla­rify a few things. First, this is not a plaint­ive howl for atten­tion. If I wanted atten­tion, I would simply howl. In a plaint­ive fash­ion. Second, I’d like to make it abso­lutely clear, par­tic­u­larly for those people who worry about the pre­cari­ous state of my men­tal bal­ance (and thank you for caring, really), that I haven’t actu­ally done this. Of course not. It’s just in my wild­est ima­gin­ings. Look. There. Ima­gin­ing. Wildly.

If all that is under­stood, let me share with you some of the post-it notes I’ve con­sidered writ­ing over the past couple of days — although not the loc­a­tions where I planned to stick them up, because that might be too much of a giveaway.

“Stop being so relent­lessly chirpy, or I may have to stab you with a plastic fork.”

“Ran­dom mode: on.”

“Yes, it’s my hand­writ­ing. Yes, call for assistance.”

“Make me toast, and I’ll love you forever.”

“I have many out­side interests. None of them involve you.”

“This space for rent, but only after the decline and fall of civil­isa­tion as we know it.”

“I am anonym­ously writ­ing filthy mes­sages on the inside of your cra­nium. They will cor­rupt your brain.”

“Please do not breathe on my ink.”

“This means noth­ing unless you’ve read the other 2,656 notes. They will shortly be avail­able in hardback.”

“Don’t stare. Star­ing is rude. Gawp, though. If you want.”

“I never should. It’s not a good idea.”

“Once read, please take this note, eat, and think of me. Be sac­re­li­gious: it’ll help.”

“Nobody knows I write to you, do they?”

“Gone to lunch. One way. Vladivostok.”

But as I said, I didn’t. Really, believe me, I didn’t. Not enough nerve. Not enough time. Not enough pens. No post-it notes, for a start. Please do not worry, there will be some­thing else along shortly.