My new journal

I was given this very beautiful journal back in January.

Thinking it was too nice to use for everyday notes, I put it away safely, and waited for the right occasion to present itself.

This week, I was rummaging for something else I'd set aside 'for the right occasion', and rediscovered this magnificent gift.

I still think it is too good to use. My appalling handwriting scratched across its pages, will not enhance it; only spoil it. The temptation to carefully repackage it, and put it back in its place of safety until a suitable time to use it arose, was strong.

Yet, I do have a suitable purpose for it.

I had a suitable purpose when it was given to me. I was just frightened of marring its beauty by scrawling my notes on its pristine, vellum pages.

How ridiculous is the notion, that I should keep this exquisite notebook hidden away in a cupboard, pending the advent of a suitable occasion to use it?

Logically, I know this 'suitable occasion' will never present itself, because I will always find a reason not to spoil the notebook's clean pages, and will undoubtedly tuck it away again.

So today is a momentous occasion for me. I have the notebook on my desk, ready to use to record my observations, thoughts, feelings and the interesting stories that people tell me, all of which might be drawn upon for my writing.

I just have to get over the first hurdle, which is to open the book out fully, and run the heel of my hand along the spine to flatten it!

Honestly, the feeling of panic that is rising within me, you'd think I was going to take a pair of scissors to it rather than a pen!