This is weird.
I love journaling in a real book... my journal right now is covered in silky, cinnamon-coloured leather and has crisp, creamy pages with a saffron silk ribbon bookmark. (How nicely alliterative... I didn't even try to do that!) But sitting down at this whirring plastic and metal piece o junk is prohibitive to my creative thought processes. When I write in a book, I feel like I am making a real mark (no that wasn't a pun) and I like to think about the millions of people, hundreds of years before me that also poured their hearts onto creamy pages in leather books. Computers just aren't very romantic (in the true sense of the word).

I just got a hot water bottle with a fleecy cover yesterday, inspired by my afternoon of walking around in the elements of rain combined with Edinburgh's "lazy wind" (it doesn't bother going around you, it just goes right through you). More people should have hot water bottles with fleecy covers. :)

Well I have to go to bed now. I don't want to do a repeat performance of last night's 4am bedtime debut!

-me