Parenthetical Recluse

Boxed up 15 years worth of paper journals and notebooks yesterday and replaced them in (the tall drawers of) the card catalog with power tools. While much of this shift comes from me having switched over fully to the reMarkable2 as my journal / thought-scratching tool (synced manually at the start of each day to import the previous day's sheet into my Obsidian daily notes), the remaining part is from the realization that I never once consulted those copious notes and, as I have no generation following me to whom they would be interesting (or blackmail material), have little need to take up valuable space with them in the day-to-day in The Paintshop.

(Better that the totality of my thoughts be placed on a thumb drive while saving drawer space for impact drivers and socket sets which are more proving far more useful in the day to day.)

My journals are – and always have been, romanticized notions of youth aside – little more than vessels in which to empty my brain, the only use for them being in the moment, in the act of taking pen to paper (physical or digital) and offloading generally useless notions and thoughts (invasive or otherwise) and reflections. As such, the import of enjoying the act of taking pen to paper is all that matters and right now, I enjoy the feel of the Lamy AL-Star EMR to the rM2: it's like writing with a felt tip pen housed in my favorite fountain pen body on an infinite sheet of paper.

So there's that then. Feels like this half-cocked notion needs a better conclusion but this is going to have to suffice.