My Name is Cammy, And I Have a Notebook Problem

I don’t know when it happened.  I’m fairly certain it’s been coming on for at least 10 years, but when the actual breakdown happened is anyone’s guess.

I used to be content to write in a spiral notebook of the 50 cent variety.  Or on plain notebook paper, lugged around in a red binder left over from someplace my Dad used to work.  People had given me a journal or two, but I was intimidated by the permanency of sewn binding.

But somewhere along the way, I lost the intimidation.  I filled up the two bound journals I had.  I picked up another.  Filled it as well.  Then came the first pocket Moleskine with graph paper and it’s perfect size for the purse.

Then came another pocket Moleskine.  And a larger one received as a gift…..

And I think that’s when the wheels came off.

It makes absolutely no good sense.  I have Field Notes notebooks (awesome, simple and Made in the USA), Picadilly notebooks (Moleskine imitations at a fraction of the price), no name black cover books, a brand-less fat cream colored book, more Moleskines, hand-made books found in Harry-Potter-esque shops in Budapest….

And the vast majority of these?  Aren’t full.  In fact, most of them I’ve not even begun.  It’s embarrassing.  Even more so since I haven’t stopped looking for new ones to add.  I try to refrain, but when you see that mark-down on a Moleskine that you know you’ll fill eventually.  And what am I to do when a family member who’s actually paid attention to the fact that I don’t stir out of the house without a pen and notebook presents me with a new one as a gift?

I honestly wish I could fill ’em up as fast as I seem to acquire them.  I refuse to use them at work (cold day in hell before the job intrudes upon the notebooks!), but work eats up time I might spend filling that obscenely large stack of notebooks.  Damn real life.

 

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