That thing on my desk is hindering my ability to work.

I stopped into a bookstore this past Saturday morning and made a killing at the clearance rack. I bought stickers and button pins for that 6 year old birthday party on the horizon, got some high quality wrapping paper dirt cheap, found an amazingly funny little book for $0.75, and got myself a new writing journal. The point in this is going to now shift focus to... the journal.

It's 5x7 or so (perhaps a bit bigger) with a cloth wrapped soft cover in black and white with a red ribbon page marker embedded in the binding. It's not fancy but it feels great in my hands. It was a bargain, too, at 75% off. I hesitated for a long time over it. After I picked it up the first time, I knew I wanted to buy it. It was just that nice. But I don't need a journal, nor want one.

Now that I have this wonderful thing, I can't think of a thing to do with it. There's the obvious; it's a writing journal, you write in it. But what to write? Is there a point to the book itself? Should the book have a purpose? Should each page be an isolated foray into language?

I feel this ridiculous amount of pressure in regards to this journal. I already pulled all the tags off and they've migrated to the dumpster (with the receipt) so I'm pretty well stuck with it now. But it's just sitting there on my desk, haunting me. Making me feel like I'm missing something. Making me wonder which thoughts bouncing around in my head should migrate to paper.

And no, I'm not immune to the hint of irony involved in blogging about journal intimidation.