I’ve reached the end of another notebook. And I always find myself wishing for one more page. I write smaller at the end, use every line, even use that back, cardboard flap that isn’t meant for using.
It’s just meant for protecting.
And then I keep the totally full book. For what? Not sure. I guess I keep it because I might need one of those brain moments at some point in the near future. I mean, I am hard-pressed on most days to remember what I had for dinner the night before.
Like right now. Can’t remember.
But there are all these other little moments in my notebooks, too. It’s my everything book – keeps track of what I have to do, what I’ve gotten done, what I want to do. All that stuff.
It also has pages of practice signatures from my daughter. Notes from my son, using the paper to communicate with me as I shoo him away while I finish a call.
“Can I have a snack?”
And it has pages of messages from Ron. He sneaks them in, seeing a To-Do list I have for the next day and adding something else to it. Notes to remind me that I did a “great job kicking ass today.”
And, my favorite.
“I love you. SO MUCH.”
That’s why it’s hard to part with a notebook. Because these books hold everything. This one has all those notes, along with a stain from a Coke I spilled on it, interviews I’ve done with people, grocery lists and big ideas I had to scribble down at that moment.
So I’ll keep it. And I might not look at it ever again. But if I need to, I’ll have it.
