The Notebook

I am often plagued with good ideas. They come, they formulate, then they go. They are never written down. They are forgotten, only fragments remain. To small to reformulate. They just sit there and annoy. Pop in from time to time to remind you of the idea that you've forgotten. Like a dream, so vivid whilst you're dreaming, but hours after you've woken only a faint memory, if it even lasts that long. Whether they're good, bad, it doesn't matter. They all fade with time. There are those, from time to time, that do not. Those that stick with us long after we've woken. They stay there. Lurking in the back of your mind. As strong as ever. You try to shake them, but you can't.

I have often considered getting an notebook, or even just a pad, to keep on hand to write these things down. To maintain some form of record. Perhaps to even use one of them in the future. This, however, never happens. I have yet to discern why. It is almost as if I have some sort of subconscious aversion to remembering these things. Though I am occasionally maddened by my inability to remember an idea or theme, could it be that madness over the loss of an idea is somehow better, safer than the idea itself? Could it be that these ideas are of such pure and immense quality that the mere thought of them would drive a sane person mad? A mad person madder? A madder person sane?

It's not even as if it's an idle thought. I have tried on various occasions to procure the requisite materials such that I can keep track of these ideas. Sadly though, I have failed on every attempt. I have been through Paperclips and Bulls-Eye and Break-Room Minimum and countless stationary stores yet I cannot seem to find the right one. This one to big, that one too small. This one too hipster, that one not hipster enough. Too brown, too green, to think, to thin. To ruled, not ruled enough. Too blank, not blank enough. And the writing implements. Oh the writing implements. More terrifying then I care to think about at this point. Then, standing there amongst the shelves of incorrect notebooks and inadequate  writing implements, I am left to wonder if it is even out there. Is the idea of this supposed proper notebook just that? An idea? Could it be that writing these epic ideas in an equally epic notebook could result in some sort of  epic critical mass collapsing into some sort of epic singularity which then becomes an epic black hole which spawns some other epic universe of epicness? Could we even detect such an epic occurrence?

Could it be that these ideas exist only because they cannot be remembered?





It is a struggle to remember even fragments but we must fight on. Somewhere therein lies the question...