One of the things that attracted me towards blog reading and now writing, is the keen sense of self that it inspires. It now amazes me that how easily a lot of us do not really look inwards and observe our own little quirks and ticks and habits and practices and go through life just fine. Thanks to blogging I am gathering a lot of hidden intel on my. Initially, I had touted this as supremely narcissistic but as it turns out, this self-awareness is actually borderline creepy and a whole lot hilarious.So here is one weird tick I observed recently...
I am a notebook addict.
I currently own 11 different notebooks and they are all blank.
To put it correctly: I am a notebook hoarder and I like to keep them brand new.
How's that for weird?
Its not a hobby. Like coin or stamp collection. It isn't even a conscious activity. I just made this stark discovery over the weekend while cleaning my bookshelf when I found one, then two...then 11 brand new notebooks! Not even a pencil mark in one.
The more I thought about it, I realised that the idea of writing in these books is very painful. I'd rather marvel at their blank pages than pen a thought. Oddly, I don't remember ever buying a notebook thinking, "maybe I'll just preserve it." On the contrary, I am an avid lister (yeah, its a thing) and I am always looking for something to scribble in.
Anyway the collection is very interesting. There are some beautifully arty ones and then some really cool graphic ones.
Like the #whorunthewold one that I gushed about here.
There is also the good girl, bad habits diary, a dear friend gifted me. This diary is almost like a personal slambook of sorts. Very pop-arty with cool girl power quotes.
How can I write and ruin these beauties?!
I wonder if this is too weird...
No comments:
Post a Comment
Hi! Thank you so much for stopping by. I can't wait to hear your mind. Shine bright. XX.