I have, apparently, been leaving secret messages to myself. I don't know I am leaving these messages at the time I leave them, but messages I am leaving nonetheless.
They are written on post it notes, which, in fact, is how I write quite a few of my blog posts at work, or walking down the street, or wherever I am. And, actually, my messages to myself are blog posts, but just little bits of them, taken out of context.
Today, for instance, I was shelving, and I was also working on a blog post about startled animals whenever I needed a break from the over industriousness of that shelving. I may also have been taking back for some slight, some feeling that the library as an institution had taken something from me. These small balances of justice are crucial when you're not in a very powerful position and you're in it for the long haul.
We are all in it for the long haul.
So I had written about four post it note pages worth of my blog post when I decided all debts were balanced (and then some!) and it was time for me to get some books shelved. I diligently, and with an earnest attempt at perfect accuracy, shelved all my books. Then I returned to my cart to head downstairs. On my cart was my post it pad. It was open to a page that said this:
Why bother with such things when there is this lovely, simple path leading away?