I've found the best remedy for that end-of-November-early-December descent of dementor-like darkness: brand new moleskine notebooks. (3 pack, on sale.)

I shared them with the hubby as he is a notebook affectionado as well. So that means I have two empty notebooks waiting patiently for me on my triangular night table. (I know, it's so nice to have a hubby who knows how to share properly.)

They've been there for almost a week now and it's thrilling. I already know the first word I'm going to write in them (both of them): Well,...

That's how a lot of my journals - personal, writing, whatever journals - start. With well, as if I'm sighing. I'm not. I just don't want to sound pretentious and official as if I'm recording some great insight, like I'm going to be the next Hemingway or Van Gogh or Picasso. (Yes, I read the whole blurb on the "history" of moleskines.) (And this is so funny. And so depressingly me [even though I'm not white.])

But, in the case that some sort of fame does show up in my life (in the slight possibility that it does), I think I'd set fire to all my journals. They are so Bridget Jones on re-reading that I cringe with shame, then frown with the wonder of it all. I could have sworn that choosing between guy x, guy z or Guy A was actually momentously earth-shatteringly geo-political, or something, at that time.

I wonder if Guy A wrote about me in his notebook. Let me go ask him.
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Guy A didn't. He just draws and writes his ideas in them. All his notebooks look so legendary. Well.
Really, well.

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Sara Zarr's Story of a Girl: Wow. I just got sucked into Deanna Lambert's world. It was so real. I wanna write real.

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Sort of Hunger Games spoiler alert:

Now that the whole family is officially Hunger Games inebriated, we've developed our own language. Like: That's So Capitol if we see someone who's avant-garde, over the top, in style. So far, we've met two thoroughly Captiol people. And interestingly, they both happened to be hair stylists.

So when I came downstairs after kind of fixing my hair in the washroom (styling it into a better shape with, yeah, a bit of scissor use), I asked everyone if I looked Capitol (because it was intentionally a bit askew. in an avant-garde way).

Everyone thought I looked more District 13, the ration years.

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And finally, my eyeballs are hurting from reading so much lately. Such a great feeling.

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