So, it began innocently enough.
I wanted to pull out my favorite notebook from the blank journal drawer. Well, I should say my favorite 8 1/2 by 11 notebook for taking notes while listening to my on line lectures. I was down to only one, and went into a mild panic the other day and ordered three more from Amazon. I can only get them at Staples and the closest one is 75 miles away. It DID go through my mind to make a special trip, but common sense kicked in. Though actually, this is a minor miracle. Because frankly, just between me and you, I have a little problem. With notebooks. And journals. And notepads. And…. paper in general.
(What about the pen thing?)
That’s a separate issue that is not up for discussion today.
One obsession at a time if you please.
(It would be more fun to watch you juggle two of them… really it would.)
Where was I?
Anyway, when I opened the blank journal drawer in my desk, the 8 1/2 by 11 was in the bottom of the drawer and I had to take out all the other ones to get to it because it was wedged in on one side by a Barnes and Noble refill journal that I particularly like.
I tossed the others on the bed and retrieved the coveted hardback notebook.
When I turned around to start putting the displaced ones back, I was a little shocked at the obsessive nature of what was spread on top of my bed. And because I have very little mercy on myself, thought it would be interesting to put ALL of my non-archived* journals on there and have a good look.
*We won’t talk about the journal stuffed plastic tub in the room of requirement.
(No? Let’s talk about that. It would be fun. Really.)
The general area of the left of this photo are my blank journals and notebooks. On the general right are ones that are either filled or partially filled. I included my day planner and traveler’s notebook just to keep it real.
Each of the journals on the right has a specific purpose. there are three of them with spiritual insights of varying degrees of privacy, dream journals, my main journal that I consider my ‘historical’ one with day to day happenings, a little bit of fiction, one for study of Hebrew, one with a bit of art, and two that I keep for ‘scribble journalling’. Stream of consciousness drivel that I need a place to dump out of my brain and onto paper.
I don’t write in all of those journals every day… but I DO write in almost all of the working ones each week. There’s only seven of those.
Having just re-read the above paragraphs, I feel a little funny. Just a little tiny bit nervous that this isn’t… well… quite…. normal.
Well, I looked it up, and I’m sure I don’t have Hypergraphia. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hypergraphia
But I do have an obsession. I admit it. And it is particularly easy to indulge in these days, because everywhere you go, you can find blank journals. I remember when this was not the case. Back in school, you had three choices. Loose leaf binder paper. A spiral bound notebook. A composition book. And even that last one only showed up at the very end of my high school years. Now when I go into Barnes and Noble, I fairly swoon over their selection of blank journals.
Journals that I used to scoff at because of their high price tag, now seem like ‘a bargain at any price’ even to my Scots bloodlines, and I own several very pricey little numbers. They have divine creamy off white paper, and little metal clasps to keep them closed.
Whether or not anything of lasting value is contained in all these pages remains to be seen. And I admit to a twinge of guilt every now and again because I cannot even imagine the pile of paper I’m going to leave behind one day. Sorry my chidren’s children’s children …. I couldn’t help myself. The world was a fascinating place, it held wonder and beauty and awe. But it also kicked my arse from time to time. And I had to write about all of it!