Lots of time on buses and what not running errands and dealing with Dr’s shit and, forgetting my Kindle in my friends car meant some quality time with the ole Fat Lil’ Notebook today. I bought it a few months ago for on the fly notes and what not as it’s essentially only a little bit bigger than two Post-Its (5 1/2 x 3 1/2). You see, I have a little bit of a Post-It fixation as previous co-workers can attest to… but that’s for another entry.
On occasion I will flip back towards previous entries. Today was one of them as I realized my book was beginning to get a bit thin. There’s only about 20 or so pages empty left in it and so, another is likely needed in the pretty super near future.
This notebook says so much it’s a bit crazy. There’s notes on an abundance of things from the everyday directions list to meetings to.. little snippets and memories of things from when I first found out I might be pregnant. Reading the entries brings about thoughts that, although fragmented, show just how much brevity can still weave a story. Reading this I’m able to watch the excitement and happiness I felt initially to…my latest entry which is, suffice to say, not.
I’m curious how much one could assess about my mind and it’s inner workings from seeing these little notes and blurbs. About the other notebooks that have been lost in moves. Who knows what happened to those old pages? Perhaps they never saw anyone else’s eyes before they were tossed into a trash. Perhaps they weren’t. Perhaps it’s for the best either way.
These pages are evidence of a life lived. They are a reminder of why I ALWAYS will have a notebook and a pen on me… and why that hasn’t changed for as long as I can [not always] remember.
These pages are why I know that I know that what I am before anything, first and foremost, is, and ever shall be: a writer. Till death do I part. And that ain’t bad even when it is bad.