when i was a freshman at carleton, i had a little blue notebook that i wrote in almost every night. i was usually either high or exhausted or both, but i wrote anyway. i took it with me when i went to visit my friend daniel in st. paul in march, and when the sun came out and the snow started melting, we walked around in tshirts and scarves and
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After a somewhat panicky few weeks I have finally located a missing notebook. As always when I mislay these things, I had been 'remembering', in its absence, that it contained notes so essential and ideas so imaginative that I would never be able to duplicate them, and the whole of the next book would be impoverished if they were never found. Now that I have said notebook beside me on this desk, however, I see that it contains few useful nuggets amid a lot of complete dross. Nevertheless, the stress I endured while believing it to be the notebook equivalent of the Holy Grail was enough to remind me that I must take better care of my working materials.
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