I think I've always just had a thing for notebooks. The thought that these little packages were mine to use however I felt was a wondrous feeling. I've destroyed some (e.i. dropping it in a puddle), used up just about every sticker I could find on some and done nothing with others, awaiting the perfect time to open the pages and sniff the newly printed paper.
And I know it's not particularly normal. What teenager asks her parents for notebooks, pens and pencils for Christmas? But hey, writers need to write ... right?
So I use up a majority of my birthday and Christmas money every year to reek havoc on the shelves of Barns & Noble and Staples alike. A notebook for poems, one for songs, a Moleskin as a journal. Others with music staffs in them, for when I'm feeling like Mozart.
People live in houses (others in tents, others in trees, but mostly they live in houses). They dwell in them, take care of them, and sleep in them. Maybe that's how I feel with notebooks. I use one every two months, and while that notebook is being used, it's always with me. Like my own secret house, full of my own ideas ... only spiral-bound.
I've come to think that maybe everyone should keep notebooks. Just to keep things and thoughts with them, to remember. And to fall asleep at night happily knowing that the wonderful idea you had before your eyes closed wouldn't be forgotten.