Obsession

I have a confession. Maybe not a confession but an admission. Maybe neither. Maybe an inkling, nay a suspicion if you will, that I have an obsession. But pray tell, I hear you say, what is this obsession of which thee speak? Is it some sordid, sinful secret? Some base dissolute proclivity?

Raise thy heads from the gutter, I beseech thee. It is such an obsession the like of which one cannot imagine. In all the realms of the ancient world, such a mania has ne’er been seen.

Okay! Okay! I will shut up now and reveal all. Well not all, literally, but some small morsel.

I have a fascination with post-it notes. Those awesome stickies that come in all shapes and sizes. Oh how I am fascinated by them.

Here are just a few of my enviable collection. A collection that would have matched that of the Library of Alexandria, had post-its been part of its catalogue. Which between you and I, I believe they should have been, and possibly even were. How could they not have been.