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rinueI miss my notebook. It was nothing special -- just a typical black and white composition book purchased at a drug store just before the fabled road trip to Boston, (during which, not incidentally, I started keeping this livejournal). It's not lost or anything; it's right next to Wimbledon [the file cabinet]. But I filled the last page a few weeks ago, and the greiving has not since remitted.
Sure, there'll be other notebooks. I truly believe that. But writing in any of them feels like a betrayal of all that is right and good.
"Romie," the notebook says to me plaintively, hulking in the shadows under my guitar. "Wasn't I good to you? Didn't you fill me with wry observations and innumerable first drafts? Was I not your constant companion for nigh on six months?" To punctuate this Brontean lament, it riffles its little pages in parchmental approximation of tears.
In an attempt to placate the notebook, I've been writing cramped little marginalia, but we both know it isn't the same. I have managed today's sub-rosa scribbling through subterfuge, employing the mini legal pad I typically use for grocery lists. The notebook remains blissfully ignorant -- convinced, perhaps, that I simply have a great many detailed items to purchase tomorrow.
And in case you're wondering: Yes, this is one of my excuses for not posting much recently. The others are, in no particular order:
1. Hey, I've been travelling! [Riiight, like this diverges from the norm.]
2. For Christmas, I got a PlayStation2, along with Final Fantasy X.
3. I've had guests.
4. No; mostly it's Final Fantasy X.
It's really good, though! I'm obsessed with the sphere grid in particular.
Fortunately for us all, I have not allowed myself to become totally degenerate. Val's unspeakably distressed by her Trig Janterm, so I've been cleaning and partially redecorating Hole in the Wall in a quietly theatrical attempt to lower her anxiety level.
Much tea has been consumed.
I have also used this time to formulate some practical goals. As I mentioned in passing, I have decided not to go to grad school. I would almost certainly have gotten into a good one, had I applied -- which is why I didn't, because then I would have accepted. It would have been a vicious cycle, a kind of vampiric whirlpool. Everyone keeps telling me a doctoral program is the best conceivable place for me, but I look at them with the jaundiced eye of someone who fully suspects a sinister coverup.
"Why does this sign read 'Harvard Sanitarium'? And that's no ghost -- it's old Mister Withers who runs the broken-down amusement park!"
I honestly do love school, but I know myself well enough to realize it's all a big stalling tactic. I didn't even want an undergraduate degree, but somehow I was diverted. (Probably Dad's influence.) I adore Economics, of course, but I don't have any intent to pursue it professionally.
As a matter of fact, I don't have any interest in professionally, or proffessorially, although I do like professing.
In short, I've decided to join the circus if they'll have me.
Mom wept when she heard the news. "You always say these things," she sobbed, "and then you dash all my hopes by not following through. . ."
Sure, there'll be other notebooks. I truly believe that. But writing in any of them feels like a betrayal of all that is right and good.
"Romie," the notebook says to me plaintively, hulking in the shadows under my guitar. "Wasn't I good to you? Didn't you fill me with wry observations and innumerable first drafts? Was I not your constant companion for nigh on six months?" To punctuate this Brontean lament, it riffles its little pages in parchmental approximation of tears.
In an attempt to placate the notebook, I've been writing cramped little marginalia, but we both know it isn't the same. I have managed today's sub-rosa scribbling through subterfuge, employing the mini legal pad I typically use for grocery lists. The notebook remains blissfully ignorant -- convinced, perhaps, that I simply have a great many detailed items to purchase tomorrow.
And in case you're wondering: Yes, this is one of my excuses for not posting much recently. The others are, in no particular order:
1. Hey, I've been travelling! [Riiight, like this diverges from the norm.]
2. For Christmas, I got a PlayStation2, along with Final Fantasy X.
3. I've had guests.
4. No; mostly it's Final Fantasy X.
It's really good, though! I'm obsessed with the sphere grid in particular.
Fortunately for us all, I have not allowed myself to become totally degenerate. Val's unspeakably distressed by her Trig Janterm, so I've been cleaning and partially redecorating Hole in the Wall in a quietly theatrical attempt to lower her anxiety level.
Much tea has been consumed.
I have also used this time to formulate some practical goals. As I mentioned in passing, I have decided not to go to grad school. I would almost certainly have gotten into a good one, had I applied -- which is why I didn't, because then I would have accepted. It would have been a vicious cycle, a kind of vampiric whirlpool. Everyone keeps telling me a doctoral program is the best conceivable place for me, but I look at them with the jaundiced eye of someone who fully suspects a sinister coverup.
"Why does this sign read 'Harvard Sanitarium'? And that's no ghost -- it's old Mister Withers who runs the broken-down amusement park!"
I honestly do love school, but I know myself well enough to realize it's all a big stalling tactic. I didn't even want an undergraduate degree, but somehow I was diverted. (Probably Dad's influence.) I adore Economics, of course, but I don't have any intent to pursue it professionally.
As a matter of fact, I don't have any interest in professionally, or proffessorially, although I do like professing.
In short, I've decided to join the circus if they'll have me.
Mom wept when she heard the news. "You always say these things," she sobbed, "and then you dash all my hopes by not following through. . ."
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Totally irrelevant, my apologies.
Date: 2002-01-09 05:07 am (UTC)I do believe that's the cutest thing I've ever heard you say. ^^;
Re: Totally irrelevant, my apologies.
Date: 2002-01-10 10:45 am (UTC)-Romie
(no subject)
Date: 2002-01-09 04:36 pm (UTC)Hope to talk to you soon.
Love,
Taley
(no subject)
Date: 2002-01-10 11:02 am (UTC)-Evil Romie
PS
Date: 2002-01-09 08:59 pm (UTC)I have suffered through similar periods of withdrawl and grief from certain notebooks. Although, mine have never been the result of actually filling one. Rather, I tend to lose mine. There is no telling how many hotel rooms, school rooms and cars contain my most private thoughts... Frightening.
Anyway, at least you can still look back at yours. ;)
::hugs and kisses::
Re: PS
Date: 2002-01-10 11:09 am (UTC)-Romie