I am terrible with time management and organisation. I’ve tried, really I have. I write things down. Reminders on my hands, my wall, books, the chalkboard my boyfriend gave me. Last year I bought a moleskine diary in the hope that I’d use it if i paid nearly R200 for it. And i did, I wrote things in it often. But I never always went back, or stuck to the things I wrote. Sometimes I’d go back and fill in things on days that have already passed,to make myself feel better, or to remember. Or things that came up. Or apointments, even if they got cancelled. Deadlines that I hopefully met. It made my diary look as though it belonged to a student intent on turning 2009 into 2000 and MINE. I loved my moleskine. It made me feel like i should take myself a bit more seriously. And as the leaflet says inside, “The legendary notebook used by artists and thinkers over the past two centuries.” Makes you feel good. Even if my relationship with it wasn’t perfect or ideal, it made me happy. It was apart of my life, a map of it, but didnt dictate it.
This year i thought I would try and have a more “healthy” relationship with my diary. I’m a lead in a play, I am to produce a piece of avant-garde performance art soon and and and… I need to graduate at the end of this year. I need to squish in quality time with boyfriend. I like to straighten and curl my hair. I love to play dress up in my clothes, to make things. To draw and paint. These things take time. Time requires management. Management requires a Moleskine diary. A red one to be specific (2010 is a year for colour, love and vibrance…)
I fantasised about my schemes, plans, ideas, appointments and doodles which will lead to something amazing. All of which will be etched into those pages.
E P I C F A I L
To find any diary at the end of February – let alone my beloved – can be extremely challenging. Even on the body, when trekking up to Kloof Street’s branch of Exclusive Books or lastly, and sadly, five flights of stairs to get to the RAG office. To get the RAG diary, my last and totally unconsidered, dreaded option. F M L.
in order to make my diary more appealing, i ripped off the glossy hard cover (electric blue has never made me that sad before), and instead covered it with soft, chocolate-brown genuine leather. Now we’re talking.
“Yes, RAG diary, you are now beautiful. Yes… you look better than a moleskine, you look like the soft delicious-smelling good quality notebook a talented underestimated poet would write in about his lover, his muse. You look like you belong to an artist, a misunderstood rebel. You look like you belong to me. And as you mingle with the other contents of my bag, you will only get better with age. Together we will take over the world.”
Success runs parallel to sacrifice, yes, this makes sense. I refuse to have half a life. To have it all requires execution, execution requires organisation. Despite knowing this, I have barely used my diary. I have forgotten birthdays, confused due dates, missed appointments. i simply can’t bare using it. The inside is just not good enough either. i’ve betrayed myself by settling. I thought if it looked more indie, held exciting dates and a postcard that says “I also slept with Tiger!”, I though if i changed these things… I would grow to love it. But it wasn’t The One. And now it lays tossed aside like a deceptive garment that you bought on sale but will never ever wear.
