Sometimes I despair at the ghastly objectophile I have become. Not the fall in love with fence posts, marry the Golden Gate Bridge kind of objectophile - but I have this odd sensation that buying a Moleskine notepad will solve many of the problems in my life.
They're just so pretty, tightly bound and sealed with care. I imagine the paper to feel like it was hand crafted from Nile-side reeds, and each page to be crisp and new like a blank sheet of possibilities. I could use it when a blog post springs to mind and I'm not near a computer to note it down, on the bus, or... or when... hmm... it appears thats literally the only time I'm away from a computer. What a excrementally dull life I must lead.
The fact of the matter is that I couldn't have such an item. There are a number of reasons, but primarily, I would feel that I wouldn't have anything worthy of putting pen to Nile-side-river-reed-pressed paper. I'd only write silly things, or draw pictures of my bus companions with devil horns or riding a camel. I'd never tarnish the pages of my precious notepad with such squalid utterances, it would be like the best silver - never taking it out of the cupboard when you have guests lest there be a more important guest next weekend.
Taking a look at Lifehacker.com's favourite notebooks, maybe I should go for one of the cheaper options. Then I can draw fish and mice with hats and write about the Universe and other innane things.
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