Old Notebooks

I am a self proclaimed notebook junkie. Every new project usually gets it’s own notebook. Sometimes it even gets it’s own pen (which magically ends up living somewhere else). Pens and paper are my weakness. If I had to choose between a bar of my favorite chocolate and a virgin notebook with perfect pen… I’m afraid I’d have to leave the chocolate behind and leave, clutching the new paper close to my bosom.

Which leads me to the next problem I have… WHERE THE HELL DID I PUT ALL THOSE DAMN NOTEBOOKS??? No, seriously, I cannot find any of them, at least, not the ones I want when I want them. Oh, sure, I’ll stumble across a dozen random spiral bound goodies, each one filled to the 1/3 mark before something else came up that required a notebook of it’s very own. Oh, I’ve tried just moving to another part of an old notebook and putting the new stuff in that, but there’s a part of my brain that says, “What if you need more room for the first thing, hm? Then you’ll wish you hadn’t done this.”

What this leaves me with, however, is treasure. Old notes for vacations long in the past. Phone numbers with no names, random lists of things I was either supposed to do or buy, or notes I took during a conference or class. I love those last ones, especially when I’ve enjoyed the class and ended up taking decent notes of it. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t give my notes themselves credit for remembering, just the way they trigger the memory of an excellent lecture.

Then there are the poems.

I do not fancy myself a poet, but there are times when poetry is the only way to get a point across, or an emotion out of my heart and onto paper. I actually have a dedicated poetry notebook that I keep in my car. It’s not very full, and not all of the poems are finished (nor will they ever be, I’m sure), but I still like reading them.

Maybe I’ll get up the courage to share them here one of these days. Maybe.

Poems… they can be so damn personal…

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