A couple of weeks ago I lost my moleskine.

From January 2009 all the way until December 09, was this little black notebook supposed to keep me timely.  This moleskin and I made a deal that I would scribble all the commitments, ideas, and oddities of my mind for one whole year, give or take a day or two, and now we have been forever divorced.

I can’t recall the location in which I left the silly thing.  Perhaps I left it cold and alone in the bookstore, a classroom, or at a lonely bus stop bench, but unknownst to me was the value that I had placed in the silly thing.

For those of you who don’t know the love that develops between a person and a molekine, I must press that it is surely time to discover such a relationship.  My home is cluttered with the things, from journals on my bedside table, a phone registry in the kitchen, and a journalist’s pad always at the ready in my bag.

I had always played with the scenario of the sad day that would result from the loss of one of my moleskines.  Now, unfortunately, these day dreams have turned into the accurate representation of my now cluttered, disorganized life.

I really had no idea of the dependence that I had on the silly book to keep my schedule in tact, keep my assignments in my instructors hands on time, and keep my ever expanding library of ideas on paper.  I only wonder what value such a mess would be to someone who found the thing.  And with my email, phone number, address all neatly printed on the inside cover, I wonder 2 weeks later why I haven’t heard a word about its journey from my hands to someone else’s.

Is it really plausible that someone found such interest in my appointments and doodles, that they felt the need to keep it for themselves?  Or, perhaps they found the bundle of promotional material for Vancouver’s Gay Top Model so deterring that they didn’t want to meet the homo who’s property this was.

I suppose the best case scenario that I can think of is that some poor student who had always wished to have a molekine of their very own, adopted it for themselves, and just conceded to the fact that they would have to take on 4 months of my identity in order to have one of their very own.

Or, perhaps, some asshole just chucked the thing in the nearest bin, and my life as I knew it has been buried in a pile of trash and rubble for the last week; my moleskine slowly but surely alleviating itself of any more of our undying commitment to each other.

*sigh*

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