I have a new notebook.
It is still new despite being purchased six weeks ago. It is new in the sense that I have never written anything in it.
It's very nice, and it cost me 15 dollars. It is about 4 inches wide, 7 inches tall, and it is made of paper that looks like leather. It has an elastic built in to keep it closed, and a ribbon attached to hold my place. It also has a pocket.
I bought it because I liked it. I didn't really have anything in mind for it when I purchased it, and it was not long after that I realized my mistake.
I have another notebook that I keep in my pocket. I use it for grocery lists, notes to myself, and keeping track of my workout routine. It cost me 97 cents. Currently it says 'Milk' and also the dimensions of a picture I am trying to find a nice frame for.
I have no fear of writing in this notebook because it is not nice. It is crumpled and has a tacky bright yellow color. I could replace it without a thought in any drug or stationary store in any city in this country. I believe I have owned a dozen exactly like it.
The other notebook is possibly irreplaceable. It came from a very unusual store in Marda Loop, a fashionable shopping area in Calgary, a city I don't live in.
I have now what I call 'Notebook Anxiety'. I feel somehow that the expensive notebook is more deserving of something profound than the cheap yellow one. The cheap yellow one is for 'Milk'. Possibly the other one was meant for poetry, or a diary. The cheap one I can tear pages out of, but it would be wrong somehow to sully this pretty object with something mundane.
So I don't use it. It sits closed on a shelf, because somehow I don't feel that anything I have to write would be worthy of a notebook I bought. I can't use it, and it's too nice to throw away. So there it sits.
Does that seem right to you?
"The things you own end up owning you"