While strolling the bookstore a week ago I was drawn to a small blank book wrapped in warm brown leather, its cover secured by a thong. The paper bound inside was of ivory hue and pleasant weight. I brought it home.I knew there was an old fountain pen somewhere in my desk. I found it, cleaned the nib and installed a new ink cartridge -- blue-black, truly the only choice for a fountain pen.
This blog has become my journal-of-sorts. Still, there's nothing quite like pen and paper, so for the last several days I've committed random thoughts, things seen and overheard, to this little book.
Distinct from my online writing and yet a complement to it, this feels like a habit."Begin again."
"IN2B8 U -- anesthesiologist?"
"Second day @job. Having fun. Natural."
"'Legalism is the death of grace.'"
