First off, I almost called Charles Dickens “Chickens” this week so that’s how your writer’s doing right now. Second thing, I thought I would take you all on a magical mystery tour through….a notebook.
More particularly, one of my notebooks. (“Only one of many,” I say ominously.) Mostly so you can admire my crazy handwriting and weird doodles.
First off, the notebook.
Yeah, yeah, I know. It’s boring and anti-climatic. But it does the job: keeping words on pages. And it cost me like 75 cents so there.
This is…notes? For something? I think it’s for Oh, Wonder Why the Sun Fell the Really Bad First Draft. My notes are scary and look like chaos and who knows if I’ll ever understand them later on.
What to do indeed. This is me frantically writing check lists everywhere so I remember what the heck I’m doing with my life.
First of all, I know it looks like a drunk person wrote this, but it wasn’t. Though I honestly don’t remember writing it either. (I feel like that was self incriminating. *spoiler: I have not been drunk before* The mystery deepens.)
I…also don’t know what the heck this is. Are these secret messages I’m suppose to decode?? Who has been writing in my notebook. I demand the guilty party stand up.
A rainbow-uni-kitty sticker because everyone needs one in their life. (Thank you Melaina.)
A sketch for an embroidery design.
Ugly, stressed scribbles and weird Iron Man sketches.
I’ll just let you feverish imaginations figure this one out.
And lastly, my disaster handwriting compared to my sister’s pristine letters (how is her handwriting so nice??? Where do people get nice handwriting???)
SOO…..there you have you it. How do your notebooks compare? Messier? Neater? More doodles or less doodles? Are there things written in it that you have no recollection of writing down? If so, who has the gall to be writing in our notebooks without permission?