New Set-Up: Personal Filofax Finsbury in Red

After a couple of weeks of using my personal Filofax Osterley in Wine (as the colour is called here in the States), I've come to the decision that as beautiful as she is and as much as I love her, Ms. Luxurious Crocodile-Embossed Leather just does not fit my current on-the-go lifestyle. Even if I put her inside a dust bag before putting her inside my bag, I am still so paranoid about getting any scratches on her. And then there was that time when I used an anti-bacterial gel. I thought my hands were dry, but when I opened the organizer, a wee part of the leather became discoloured :o(

I'm now using a personal Finsbury in red and if you can believe it, is actually a simpler, slimmed down version of my usual ;o) Just one ruler, one business/credit card holder, no dpp. It also functions as a wallet...Heaven help me. Eventually I will do a major overhaul, but for now, this system works.

I will write more detailed posts later, but for now, here are some  (low-res camera phone) photos:

 

The Twitchin' J-U-N-K-I-E Confessions

Addiction.

Now that is such an interesting word, eh? It reeks of decadent debauchery, drama, and yes, eventual decline and downfall. At least it appears that way if you keep up to date with the Jon Gosselin escapades (as told through the eyes of TMZ.com or Perez Hilton).

Applied to me, however, the word addiction becomes…well, boring. And weird. Definitely Enter the Twilight Zone and The Outer Limits kind of weird. Like Busta Rhymes hanging out with Martha Stewart weird (which DID happen!).

Anyhoo…

I am addicted to books. Mangoes, Moleskine artist journals, fountain pens, shoes, Red Velvet cupcakes, and Earl Grey tea, too…but mostly books.  Books. Literature. Seems innocuous enough, eh?

Ha! Not according to my bank account.

So I (finally) gathered all my receipts, bank statements, and balanced my checkbook from the last  2 years, and as it turns out, I spent roughly  the same amount of money for 'reading for pleasure' books as I did for 3 semesters of required textbooks! 

It could be worse.  I mean, I could be hooked on drugs (and twitch like a ferret and have runny nose and bloodshot eyes) or the bottle (and therefore smell like the love child of St. Paddy’s Day and Red Sox/Pats/Celtics/Bruins Dynastynation after winning The Championship).Or I could be addicted to Botox and Restylane, then have plungers for lips and a face that is as immovable as a 600 lb. sumotori. So my little addiction is harmless, right?  

I say nay, for book addiction can be equally disconcerting. Granted, my arms may not bear the sign of track marks, and my liver may be fresh instead of ashy, BUT I do occasionally hear these voices in my head screaming BUY! BUY! BUY! each and every time I set foot at the Coop, Borders, B & N, Waldenbooks, Harvard Book Store, Schoenhopf’s…And I swear that those tomes on the shelf have puppy dog eyes that just beckon to be bought and taken home. And the scent! Goodness me! Be they fresh-from-the-printers-and-newly-arranged-on-the-bookstore-bookshelves books, or dusty and hidden little buggers on the farthest stacks inside the uni library…they all have this scent that enraptures my senses. Beguiled doesn’t even cover my state of being in the presence of the written word. 

My name is Dorky McBook, and I am an addict. It has been ten minutes since I last read a book.