Back to school

There I was at the drugstore, purchasing supplies for Morrison’s upcoming colonoscopy, feeling thoroughly 41, when I saw her: a 3 subject, college ruled Five Star notebook, waiting for me on an endcap. In high school (back when I worked at Party City, do people who never worked at Party City know what an endcap is?) I would get a new set of these for every semester, and their blank pages made me feel like THIS year, I could be the best and coolest version of myself, this year would be better and different. I would start off strong with good handwriting and careful notes and by the end of the semester, the notebooks would have like gum stuck to the back and for some reason drawings inside of my own hand. But I loved that fresh beginning part. Mid-strike (are we in the middle? the beginning?) I feel like I need the same newness and freshness, for whenever and however we return. So I brought her home, labeled her with the year. Maybe this semester I’ll take good notes, be cooler, be better, be smarter, get a car, and the shoes, and the part, or the boy, or maybe I’ll be the exact same, but older, and more tired, but with this notebook, which can hold All of it.

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