It felt good to write today.
It didn’t matter what I wrote. Just the act of it was sensuous.
As a teenager I carried a burgundy leather, three hole binder/zippercase everywhere I went. I like the thought of it being leather, but I can’t say for sure that’s the truth. Either way, I wrote in it all the time, trading completed pages for blank pages every few days or so, based on how productive I was.
I’ve changed from that zippercase – which I swear is somewhere in the depths of my basement, waiting for an adventure of Indiana Jones proportions before it’s found again like the Ark of the Covenant in that U.S. Military warehouse) – to the following mediums
- A4 Notebooks (paper)
- A9 Notebooks (paper)
- Palm Pilots (too many to mention, but the Tungsten had a special place in my heart)
- Moleskine notebooks (reporter style, small notebook style and large notebook style).
But I’m back to a zippercase again for work. It’s not leather, but it has the same spirit as my old one. And what I used for paper was what came from a Cambridge notepad with three hole punched paper on it – the logic being I could take the notepad with me everywhere and transfer the notes to my binder later. I have dividers in it and everything. I can print out emails, three hole punch it, and file it away. And once I week, I would remove the pages, file them away, and leave it to be filled again.
However, I didn’t have any refills so I had to bring paper from home – the purchasing department informed me no sane office buys three hole punched lined paper anymore. I guess I was lucky to get a Cambridge pad at all.
I can’t remember the last time I wrote on three hole punched lined paper. I grabbed the first batch I found. It seemed a little off white, like it had an age to it, a character. More mature. As if it had to go through a whole lifetime to get into my hands and couldn’t wait to be used.
The newer paper doesn’t have any spirit. The gel pen slides across the surface, leaving an imprint, but if you so much as glance at it the wrong way and the ink smudges. Three hole punched lined paper takes ink in a lover’s embrace and leaves words lying there on the page for you to admire. Even red ink looks succulent. I wrote for the sake of writing because it looked so good. The sensuous feel of it against the skin of my hand – the hypothenar eminence muscles – felt so good I almost blushed.
Suffice to say, I am too deliciously distracted to get any work done. Thank you, three hole punched lined paper. You made me happy today.