There’s a certain feeling I get when I start a new notebook. I skip that first page, (too much pressure) and dive right in to the next one.
I’ll start off right – date in the corner, staying within the lines, a pen dedicated to that particular book.
Within a week I’ll be skipping the dates, writing in the margins and adhering sticky notes over hand written hieroglyphics.
Within a month that pristine notebook will be a well travelled suitcase of post-its, dogged ears and illegible notes – bound by an elastic band barely holding it all together. Long gone is the dedicated pen that once scribbled and doodled on these pages.
But today, it is a blank book – empty and full of such promise.