In Celebration Of My Sticky Note

I put a sticky note on the outside of my dorm window in August. My dorm is on the 7th floor. The sticky note is still there.

It endures through bitter storms and gusting winds and plagues of insects. Once pink and joyous, it is now pale yellow, shriveled, and hangs perpendicular to the window, like it is mid-jump, a tap away from plunging down into the abyss. Even as everything around it -- weather, gravity, time itself -- tries to bring it down, it persists, ruthlessly, unflinchingly, indomitably.

It is dying, but it will not die.

You thought Ernest Shackleton was cool. You've marveled at the glory of the Roman Empire. But Shackleton and Rome are dead and gone, and my sticky note lives on.



UPDATE: I've written a letter about the sticky note! Read it here.