Oh No, I Did It Again

Oh lordie, I did it again. I can't help it. It's an illness. I need to google what the name of the syndrome is, besides 'Journal Junkie'. 

I try so hard to resist, to back away, to distract myself. I'm weak. It's my Achilles heel.

The problem is ... well, actually there are a couple problems. Just how many journals does one human need, and what more can I find to write in them? 

I want to order the Journal Makers to STOP! Stop creating such beautiful journals that feel so nice. I used to buy them for size and colour. I suppose I have pretty well every colour so that doesn't suck me in much anymore. But now, didn't they go and invent ones that feel so lovely that even with your eyes closed you don't want to let it go. They get into your hand and won't release. They are magnetic, just like red ones have always been to me.

I tried so hard to walk away. I shouldn't have made eye contact to begin with. It was a tree. And darn, don't I love trees. It reeled me in. Fatal error - I picked it up.

It had no price so I was just going to stick it back and run.

But it wouldn't get out of my hand. It walked me over to the dude at the counter. It let itself release long enough for him to scan it.

Thirty dollars. Thirty AMERICAN dollars at almost thirty percent exchange. A LOT of money for an empty book. Way out of my price range.

I took it back and put it with its friends.

Next fatal error.

I didn't run. I hovered.

I looked over my shoulder and the darn thing zapped itself into my hand again.

It made me take it back to the dude and say 'oh well, it's only money.'

So, here it is. Yet another empty journal that is waiting for me to figure out something to fill its pages.

What is wrong with me?