Post-It Notes, To-Do Lists and Crammed-Full Notepads

Those afternoons spent attempting to find a matching set; the thrill I get when I walk into Staples; the anticipation for the back-to-school shop. It's taken me a while to realise that I have an obsession. In fact, it was only a few weeks ago when I paused to take a picture of the multi-coloured post-its I found whilst out shopping that I noticed. Perhaps the caption - "Definition of Heaven?" - that I wrote as I sent it to a friend was a sign? Maybe the multiple times I pulled out my phone for the purpose of showing a family member or friend the picture? If not, it could be the to-do lists stuck sporadically over the front cover of my current-read, written in a scrawl that suggests I was half-awake at the time. Which, at 1.30am, I was. Or the colour-coordinated revision notes and highlighted quotes inside the school text books I own, doodled over with arrows, hardly any room to analyse another word. Now, I don't even use those that are littering the teacher's desks in class but rather bring my own; swapping with classmates over the table when I notice they have hot-pink post-its. That's a colour I never seem to own. The post-it colours I own match the highlights I have and this is how it should be.

Yes, I have a little stationary obsession.

This was my definition of Heaven.

When using post-it notes was first mentioned, whilst discussing the worries that haunt me in the latest hours of the night, I was told to simply keep a few beside my bed with a pen, no longer having to crawl out from under the covers to write a reminder down. And I did that. I'd wake in the morning to post-it notes stuck to my bedside table, and a quick scan over what I had written - most of which was incoherent - I knew what I was doing that day. With more control over my senses than in the early hours, when I could be found contemplating escape-routes after hearing the click of a door handle, I could see that those things I had needed to write down were not such a problem. That, in fact, I could solve them in a few minutes. Or wouldn't need to at all. Unsurprisingly, things are a little  different now, but I'll blame that on the person who introduced me to the world of post-it notes in the first place. The next step? A noticeboard.

Without a notepad, I can't begin to contemplate writing any posts. In the corner of my room, kept in a neat stack, a collection of notepads sits next to my review-copies. The pile consists of last year's diary, notepads filled with novel ideas that will never be used and a blog book that does not have a single clean page left. One that is crammed with more lists, those that details everything from the posts I want to write to the places I want to visit, has a permanent place  on my desk, and I can't help but say I've spent time admiring the pastel-coloured ribbons for page-markers. There are several things I couldn't live without - a notepad being one of them - but an ink-pen is another. I'll forever be in debt to Bic ballpoint pens or Papermate for dragging me through English exams, but without the flow of an ink pen across the page - the freedom that it gives me when I'm planning out posts - I can't handwrite at home. The slightly cursive style I seem to adopt when holding my latest favourite in my hand...it's the closest to calligraphy I think I will ever manage.

Are you a fellow stationary collector? Notepad hoarder?

Tell me in the comments!

It's possible I got a little carried away...

Sophie

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