Here in the office, I am (like most jerks in the corporate world) constantly juggling several tasks at once. Sometimes these tasks seem to have absolutely nothing to do with one another, and nothing to do with the making of a magazine. So it goes. To keep everything from crashing down at my nervous, trembling feet, I scribble little reminders on yellow Post-it notes and stick them to everything around me: Post-it notes on my computer screen, Post-it notes on my telephone, Post-it notes on my calendar, Post-it notes on my stapler, etc.
As time passes, I'm sure to revisit my notes, crossing out items as I accomplish them. Sometimes (but not often, I swear!) enough time passes between the moment I had originally scribbled the note and the moment that I finally return to it, that I've sort of forgotten what it was I was supposed to do.
Copy paste values only? Huh?
Crossover products, room treatments, power accessories? Whatever. Once all of the items on a Post-it note have been satisfied, I toss the note into the trash. And, at that miraculous point, I am instantly overcome by a strange and stupid sense of fulfillment. Ah.
Today, as I was examining the many yellow leaves scattered across my cluttered desk, I came across one note that left me entirely baffled.
Jesus doesn't know anything about selling ads.
I don't even remember
writing that; I have no clue of what I'm supposed to
do with it.
