I didn’t make much progress on my “Attainable Goal” list the other night. I really wanted to, but I got hung up on the idea that I should have a fresh notebook in which to write down this master plan. I realize I could use my computer (or heck, this blog) for such a list, but there is something about physically writing this type of thing down. I suspect I am not the only one who has this affection for pen and paper. Needing to write in a fresh notebook, however, probably sets me apart from at least some of the crowd. This is an issue that has a history of crippling me.

For one thing, finding the perfect notebook can be a challenge. It has to be the right size (not too tall, not too thick); it has to be the right color (as if there is a “right” color. It depends on my mood at the moment of purchase, and that mood is a constantly moving target); it has to have lines, but they can’t be too far apart; it has to have something stiffer than a thin cardstock cover, but not as thick as a composition book. There are other requirements too, but I don’t want to go into them for fear I will sound obsessive…

When/if I find the perfect notebook, I also have to find the perfect pen: blue or black; gel ink; retractable clicky top (<–mood dependent); micro-point tip.

On the rare occasion when the stars align and I am able to make both of these purchases (I need to buy them at the same time- did I mention that part?), I then fall into a pattern of worry/paranoia. The notebook is so clean and pretty. I don’t want to ruin it with just any words. They have to be meaningful, well-written, concrete. And my penmanship is really bad, so that causes feelings of inferiority too. The pen situation is anxiety-inducing too. I spend so much time finding the perfect pen, I have to be very careful to conserve the ink. Because what if when it runs out, the pen manufacturer has discontinued that pen model!? Tragedy!

At this point you must be wondering how I get anything done, ever. Well, I typically don’t. But I must.