Found on My Desk

I'm not one for a clean work space (secretly, I think, it drives Kirsten mad). It's not so much that it reflects my mental state (though a cluttered mind is, on occasion, an apt description). It's more that cleaning my desk reminds me of so many things I might have done. Not so much a return of the repressed as much a record of that which could (and in many cases should) have been.

Thus an old Post-it note, now long past what tackiness it might have had, curled at the edges. In rushed handwriting (following too much Foucault in the past week, a scrawl as yet undisciplined), I find two notes: Dew in the morning on my windshield in Los Angeles... snow in Baghdad for the first time in living memory - what a thought: snow on ruins.