I don’t even remember when I bought this notebook, but I can imagine that feeling of excitement over the fresh pages. I was likely attracted by the narrow lines. I like the strong cover and the elastic that keeps it closed; it gives me a sense of purpose when I pull the elastic back and take the pen from behind my ear. I probably even thought about the plain black cover that gave a blank slate feeling, no boundaries, no guidelines, just write.
I had been in the habit of buying a new notebook when I was nearing the end of the old. The promise of the new inspired me to write even more, I was so anxious to open the fresh one. The dates near the beginning and end of each of my notebooks show way more productive work than the middle. I’m sure I bought this notebook with a sense of excitement and enthusiasm.
I’ve had the notebook for over a year.
Because during that time, I have been unable to write without pain. I had to switch to typing which allowed me to compose longer before I had to give in. Today, I can barely sign the receipt to pay for lunch; it hurts so much to write by hand.
And I miss it.
I miss the way my brain works through the pen, the different kinesthetic experience of gliding through words rather than pounding them out.
I miss the freedom of pulling out a notebook and jotting down ideas no matter where I am. I’ve used the notes feature on my phone and bought this really lightweight MacBook, but I know I don’t write as much as I did when I used a pen.
Tomorrow, I go in for arthroscopic surgery to repair the TFCC tear in my joint which we think is the likely cause of the worst pain, though I also have two other problems in the same area. According to my surgeon it has a 70% chance of improving my wrist. He calls it lousy surgical odds. I say I’d buy a lottery ticket on those odds. If this doesn’t work then we go to the next, much more invasive and serious, surgical step.
So, to prepare for the surgery, I took out this as yet unused notebook and put it on the table as my inspiration. I can feel the joy of the ink marking up the first page. Dr. A – make it happen!
My Slice of Life.