My brother got me a gorgeous red leather journal from Paris recently. (I believe the French people call them “zhur-nals.”)
What makes this even more impressive was that besides it not even being my birthday or a national holiday, he actually went to Paris and bought it (not the sole purpose of the trip, I hope, but a lovely gesture nonetheless). Every day, I look at that journal and promise to write something profound in it. Every day, I break my promise. And the next every day, I remake the promise.
My step-mother sends me lovely journals from the high-end stationery store, Papyrus. I think she does not realize we have Papyrus here in Crazy Town mall, about a 5 minute drive from my house. She thinks the Papyrus near her in Denver is the only one.
My sister once gave me a tape-recorder (“In case you can’t get to a pen, or in case the idea is too fast”). Yeah, ‘cause my ideas are like Nascar racers, they leave tire tracks on your feet.
Queen Virgo eyes the lovely stack of (unopened) journals, pristine in their originalness.
She kisses the Waterman pen, and sets it (still full of ink) next to its lovely twin (a gift from the college boyfriend).
And right then, she has a magnificent idea for a blog. She reaches for her trusty "Special Deluxe" pen …
… and then she grabs the one type of paper she uses to write down 100% of her ideas:
But she will never throw away the journals.MOV