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.