The Notebook

A box stacked to the brim with old journals arrived at my door a couple of weeks ago, having made its way across an ocean and dozens of state lines despite its contents being so radioactively embarrassing that it ought to be considered an international security risk. But embarrassing in a sort of cute way? Because every page of these journals from the early 2010s are adorned with scribbles of songs, movie quotes, and desperate love letter-shaped things. There’s essential notes in here though, let’s be real. The really good stuff. Like, endless Fight Club quotations. Joking aside, I worry, reading back over these journals and notebooks though. I worry about just how sad and alone this kid was. I worry about how this is the sort of stuff you do when you’re thirteen, not bearing down on your twenties. But after reading Roland Allen’s The Notebook, A History of Thinking on Paper, I’ve approached these journals with a gentler gaze because, as dumb as endlessly quoting Fight Club is, this…

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