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.