Tiny Importance

Tonight, I went to Wal-Mart, because I needed to buy a folder to put my Photography Class Portfolio in. Of course, after I found (something that resembled) what I wanted, I roamed the journal, stationary, book and pen isles..it’s just a habit. I found this small journal… it had an elastic band that went around it to keep it closed, and it was covered in a fine fabric that was gray, black and rich purple plaid.

I picked it up off the shelf. I held it in my hand. I felt the weight of it. I opened it, and admired the creamy color of the pages, and the adequate space of the lines on the paper. I liked it. I liked the simple design. I liked the size, small enough to fit in a purse. I liked how easy it was to keep open when the elastic band was off. I liked the lines on the paper. I carried it around with me as I looked at pens.

I went back, and put it back on the shelf. And I felt a little depressed about it… not because I didn’t buy it. But because, even if I had bought it, I can’t imagine what I would’ve written in it to make it special. So, I couldn’t see buying it. Besides… I already have a journal =\ Why does it affect me when it’s really something so small? Or am I mistaken, and what's wrong isn't small at all?

...

Then I checked out and went to Taco Bell for a crunchy beef burrito.. I swear, the put crack in the cheese @..@