I have a number of addictions, the primary one (about which I can speak publicly) is my bibliophilia. I cannot stop buying books. I CAN NOT STOP.
Running a close second: notebooks and pens. I am insatiable. Luckily (or, perhaps – not so luckily) I developed along the way a snobby preference for writing by hand on Classic Clairefontaine Top Wirebound Notepads (8.25 x 11.75 Lined Paper) – which have the SMOOTHEST, THICKEST, MOST LUXURIOUS writing surface. They are practically magical. They are also (now) $12 a piece and I have NEVER found them in a store. So, when I am drawn to the displays of school supplies everywhere – I am saved from spending cash I can’t really afford because there are no notebooks in which I would deign to write.
However, these displays, and their lack of Clairefontaine, have, somehow – go figure – made me melancholy. I have used up the last of my Clairefontaines – and I miss them. And I don’t really – at this point in my life – need to be missing one more goddam thing goddammit.
See? How common that swearing. That’s what comes of not having imported French papier on which to write.