Page by page fills up with grocery lists, diary entries, and scribbles and scratches meaningless to the outside eye, but provoking to my own.
I tattoo the pages with two barrels of ink over the course of a few months, though it feels substantially heavier than I thought less than a milliliter of dried liquid would feel.
The grooved texture between the pages gives it a satisfying body, the substance between my fingers bursting with ideas.
There’s a rustic beauty in smeared ink, an imperfect and well-loved essence that sauce stains, dog-eared pages and gum stuck in between the pages conveys.
Small enough to fit in my purse but large enough to capture every insight, it slips in and out during not-so-engaging classes.
My portable drawing board, my launch pad.
Retiring my most recent notebook…