This morning, I noticed that the notebooks I’ve been working in were missing. I take them into laundromats, restaurants, and libraries with me. One is a journal, and the other is almost full of works in progress: stories, poems, pieces in germination. I called the last restaurant where I last took them; they said they hadn’t seen any notebooks. You can imagine: I felt sick. It felt like someone took a scalpel and carved out part of me without my consent. Well, I always say, Life Is the Best Teacher. I will probably be paranoid about keeping track of my notebooks from now on. Or maybe I will learn to gracefully let them go.
Posted on a trail map sign was a flyer for a lost dog. At least I didn’t lose a pet or a family member. It could have been worse.
It occurred to me that I had wanted to experience what life felt like with nothing. (See this post.) Life: “Here you go!” What can you do but move on? You work with what you can muster. I remember getting anxious in English classes in college because I couldn’t think of anything to write about that fit the assigned topic. I might be stressed for days until suddenly I’d realize, I’m a writer; I can make up anything. What difference would it make if the subject and details of my essay were real or imagined? Who would know? I didn’t end up fabricating any stories for assignments, but it always made me feel more secure knowing the option was there if I needed it.
Photo: Indian Boundary Lake, TN