Post-It notes decorated Allison’s apartment, two-inch by two-inch squares laminated and mounted to walls, mirrors, and appliances with cellophane tape that had been rubbed transparent with a thumbnail and trimmed square with an Exacto knife. A dry erase marker hung next to each, the plastic clip that held it in place squared against both the note and whatever it was mounted to.
Allison believed in precision.
As soon as she turned off the alarm clock each morning, Allison worked her way through the house wiping the laminated notes clean of the check marks she’d made the day before. The one on the bathroom mirror with its list to “Wash face — Moisturize — Brush teeth — Listerine”. The one by the stove with a line for all four burners, the oven, and the broiler. The one on the refrigerator marked “Breakfast — Lunch — Dinner” and four spots for water.
The check marks were so she couldn’t forget.