No matter how drastically our every day lives are changed by new technological advancements, there is one thing that I will always take comfort in. Writing. On a piece of paper.
There’s something mystical and rhythmic about physically writing something down. Watching the words as they form on the page, taking shape, coming to life. Flowing forth from the tip of a divinely fine felt-tip pen. Ink blacker than the darkest, scariest place on earth, under the bed.
Sometimes I take my time. Forming each letter methodically, in the most perfect cursive I can muster. Afterwards, staring lovingly at the words on the page. Extraordinary, I think to myself, taking pride in my exquisite penmanship. An exemplary work of art!
Other times I dash out an illegible jumble of marks on the page, haphazardly. Of the two, this method is far more common. And I am consistently confounded by these paltry scratches, that I don’t dare deem writing, when I need to refer to them later. What is that? An h or an x? A phone number or a serial number? Dammit, if you’d just take your time once in a while we wouldn’t be in this mess!
Every morning at the office, after I’ve checked and prioritized all of my emails, I take the time to write down my daily To-Do List. I smooth out the page. I give the list a date and a title. Both masterfully underlined in ink so red that, if he ever saw it, Rudolph would even say it glows.
Every entry on the list is numbered. Orderly. Organized. Powerful. Once this list is writ, I am unstoppable.
Computers break. Paper is infallible. This is a universal truth by which I live. You can always trust in paper. If the whole electronic system on which our company faithfully relies were to spontaneously forfeit its will to live, then at least I’d still have a grip on things. An ironclad, kung-fu grip on the reality of it all. Because I have my list. The list that I wrote out so meticulously.
The only thing I love more than writing my daily list, is writing my daily list in a brand new notebook. Oh the sheer ecstasy!
I spoiled myself absolutely rotten when I bought the new notebook. It’s delightfully thick. Cream coloured. With an intricate pattern of leaves imprinted onto the exterior covers. It’s got a bookmark, a ribbon, sewn into the spine. To drape purposefully across the current page.
And what a steal too, 75% off! From the ashes of the bargain bin at Indigo, a majestic phoenix arose. Those are some savings that a frugal gal of my ilk can really appreciate.
On Tuesday I filled in the last page of the old, terrible, used up notebook. Wednesday morning, I was ecstatic. I was going to take my new notebook on its maiden voyage. Giddy. Giddy giddy giddy!
I opened the cover. Inhaling slowly, savouring the smell of the fresh, unmarred pages. Oh yes, she will be mine. That was a weird thing say… possessive and weird. But it was an organic thought, occurring naturally. So it stays.
I took my time, writing. Filling up the lines with my graceful, sweeping cursive. Feeling powerful. Confident. Ready to take on the world. One list item at a time.