On finding a note to myself

I was going through my dresser drawers this evening. I wanted to throw away some old, no longer wearable clothes so that I could finally put away that basket of clean laundry that had been staring at me in an accusatory manner for several days now.

I found the most interesting things. Strange items that had obviously sifted down through the clothing to the bottom of each drawer. There was a portable chess set, used maybe once. The instruction manual for a long defunct and discarded DVD player. A wallet that was still in its gift box from several Christmases ago. Three cheap watches that had all ceased operating. Some unidentifiable keys. Some buttons. Some business cards.

Among all this debris was a note in my distinctively awful script. It read,“Very important: don’t forget to call Don!”

Hmmmm.

I don’t usually write notes to myself. I have no memory of ever writing this note. Did I remember to call Don? Why was it so very important that I call him?
Who the hell is Don?

Finding things like this really scare me.