Obsessions

This subtitle is under construction

I recently went to a poetry workshop where the first exercise was to jot down a list of our current obsessions. I am Not A Poet™, but I am an obsessor. The only way I’m able to do anything is if it scratches that very specific itch in my brain. This is an ADHD thing, I know, so maybe I’m less obsessive than the pleasure centers in my brain are severely out of whack. But either way, I’ve managed to carve a life for myself from the soft and supple flesh of my obsessions. It’s very probable that no one cares about any of this but me, but that’s okay. My obsessions take many shapes and fit together - less like a jigsaw puzzle than a mosaic. A kaleidoscope of brilliant colors, journals, and light, where nothing has a place to the untrained eye, but they reveal their inherent patterns to me. They become a series of coping mechanisms. A system of checks and beautiful balances without which I would be completely untethered.

bullet journal

I have always been very self-aware, but this obsession allows me to see myself more clearly in each individual moment. The way it all comes together in the short-term. That kind of memory has always been the most difficult for me. It’s much easier to dredge up the past. Read, for example, a sentence I wrote in 2015 and suddenly picture, as if 3D printed and held in my hand to manipulate at my whim, a scene: a clear August night and the events that followed. The memory itself isn’t the point, only its accessibility. I can do that in an instant, conjure any moment with only the slightest prompting. Re-immerse myself in the feelings because they exist on the page, or in an image found deep in my camera roll. But the fluctuation of everyday? The here and now? Last week? Nothing. Just my empty palms, cupped around the absence of the sands of time that have bled through my fingers. That is, until I started marking those little colored boxes. Ticking off accomplishments one by one. I read this day. Spent some time learning a language. Took out the dreaded trash and also cooked some sort of meal. This is how long I slept, whether I napped, how productive I was and how I was feeling emotionally. I cleaned this part of this room, but look how much I have left to do. There are months I fall into depression, and even those are marked by the blankness of the pages, the days the journal fell to disuse. I have a real record, simple data points unmarred by the emotion or unreliability of narrative. I have narrative too, of course, and the days I’ve written in my other journal – more diary, confessional – are clearly marked as well.

I started my first bullet journal in September 2021, and finished it at the end of this past October. It contains just over two years of my life. It is a teal Leuchtturm1917 hardcover in the size A5. Dotted pages, of course. On the cover is an ArrogantKei sticker, a blue fairy-like creature. More on that later. In terms of style, Pinterest provides a very specific impression of the practice of bullet journaling, but I strip it to bare bones. No calligraphy or little doodles. No stickers, tabs, or drawers upon drawers of assorted washi tape. Just straight lines, various trackers I repeat month after month.

I started bullet journaling initially so that I would have a way to hold myself accountable to the things I enjoy. Namely, to get back into reading. Accompanied by concurrent use of multiple track-and-review apps (Goodreads & StoryGraph), and the consumption of content from every corner of BookTok (despite my genre of choice leaning memoir, litfic and specifically translated fiction), it remains nearly fool-proof, and has grown to encompass so much more; has gone through myriad iterations until I really hit my stride. Ten pages per month, always the same:

The first, a landing page of sorts, consists of the monthly breakdown. Miscellaneous () goals, a mini calendar with certain dates marked (paydays, new and full moons with accompanying signs, any upcoming appointments or events), other astrological transits of note, and a period tracker (since keeping that data in apps has become dangerous).

Then, the book tracker. Books are color-coded and the blank calendar is colored in accordance with days read, and which book. I managed to meet my reading goal of 35 books in 2022 (some of my favorites were The Door by Magda Szabó, The Secret History by Donna Tartt, and East of Eden by John Steinbeck, among others). Without my bullet journal, I doubt this would have been possible. I did not meet my 2023 goal of 20 books, but rather maxed out at 15 (my favorites were The Friend by Sigrid Nunez, Stoner by John Williams, and Babel by R.F. Kuang). This year, I’m shooting again for 20 books.

Next in my bullet journal chronology is always the goal log, a landscape template where I choose an alternating scheme of five colors to notate whether I complete specific daily goals. The goals themselves trickle down the Y axis, while X along the top is the days of that month. I have yet to color down an entire day’s column, but that is an aesthetic and productive someday-goal of mine. Not every task can be completed every day, and sometimes I get overzealous. The guitar row, for example, was blank for months before I left it off entirely. It is not enough to merely want to develop a skill when it takes 90 days or so to form the habit. My guitar is, at the very least, beautiful. Electric, marbled green like malachite. I like to look at it and hold it in my hands. With less pressure, maybe the habit will form. There are easier daily goals to accomplish, like read, do at least one language lesson on DuoLingo (I’m learning Portuguese for my boyfriend, who is Brazilian), and drink water. This is the page that really sells me out when I’m neglecting myself, as it also lists hair and face (as in wash), brush (as in teeth), floss, shower, sheets (as in change). Maybe it’s good to rub your nose in it sometimes.

Next is a two-page open-face spread of identical trackers, one for my productivity, one for my mood. The nine-color key across the top of each page boasts a different progression through the spectrum of productivity and emotions, but the colors themselves follow the same rainbow scheme. There are calendars below each key, and I color in each day according to the key. My productivity and moods tend to fluctuate a lot more when I’m hauling through a degree program. I finished my second Bachelor's degree, in Sociology, last March – twisting assignments to scratch the aforementioned itch and passing everything in late. I have since started my Masters program, this one in Creative Writing, which is a return to my roots (my first BA was in Creative Writing as well). I want an MFA, but that is another someday-goal for various someday-reasons, so for now I’m working on an MA to get back into writing on an academic schedule, and also using other outlets to flex the creative muscle. These tracker pages become more interesting when compared to my confessional. On days of anger and frustration, enough to color it in, I likely scrawled ten pages or more in one of my other journals.

There are a few more pages that go into every carefully curated month of my bulleted life, but I have already waxed poetic for far too long, so let me wax off. In short, bullet journaling changed my life. As someone with ADHD, I refer to my brain as one of those magical never-full bags. It’s all in there, it’s just floating around in space. That is, until I started filling in those little colored boxes. Now I take it everywhere: to doctor’s appointments so I can quickly locate symptoms, to coffee shops so I can procrastinate my assignments for the time it takes to update it for the day, to my boyfriend’s house for the weekend even though it usually stays in my bag and I have to catch up once I get home. My current bullet journal is a gorgeous raspberry color, with yet another ArrogantKei sticker on its cover (again, more on that later).

journal journal

I was initially inspired to get back into journaling – and more specifically to create a journaling system – by someone I follow on TikTok, as well as here on Substack (if you see this— hi!), who no longer really makes videos about their journals. They call them their dashboards, and they are more deliciously hodgepodge and eclectic than my own. That’s actually where I got the recommendation for the brand of journal that I use now. I have always been a journaler, but without a go-to brand, which meant that my practice waxed and waned without the consistency of style. We return here to checks and balances. It isn’t enough to record my life. Of course, there’s something to the short-term gratification of watching my handwriting fill page after page and feeling my wrist cramp up. But I’m thinking ahead to after, the display. I want them all lined up together between the gorgeous agate bookends I nearly fought the Etsy seller over when I got the notification they’d been delivered but didn’t find them in my mailbox. My now-regular journals are, again, Leuchtturm1917 A5s, and I’ve filled nearly four since February 2022 (I started my bullet journal first and then realized that diary-style journaling could be a row to color in on my monthly goal log page – cue multi-level dopamine hit). They are at once confessional, ruminative, a place to vent, and a place to keep records. Sometimes I can barely read my own handwriting for the anger – where the tongue in my head races faster than my hand – and other times I spend pages and pages painstakingly transcribing an argument that happened over text. They’re rich in substance, and heavy with ink. I’ll probably mine them for a lot of what will end up here.

multimedia/um journal

You know where this is going. Another hardcover Leuchtturm1917 in size A5, olive, this one completely blank. No dots, no rule, no conventions. For some reason, this one is the hardest to fill, although it is where my list of obsessions first appeared. The first two pages are collage. Another is covered in fortunes from the cookies at my favorite local Chinese spot. Some more hold the spoils of the aforementioned poetry workshop, and is where I’ve been drafting this year’s ESCAPRIL attempts. I call it multimedia/um because it is both multimedia and multi-medium. As is likely already apparent, I appreciate alliteration.

personalization & small brands

I am a collector, a cultivator of unique taste. Everyone knows about something, but not everyone can know about everything. Not to say that I know about everything – I am not the arbiter of the echelons of taste-making – but I do think I have amassed knowledge of a lot of cool shit over the years. And I am not a gatekeeper. I am the first person to gush about where I got something and put people on to the artists and designers I love, because I am confident in my taste, my vision, my ability to still make these things my own.

I love stickers. Taking something ordinary, like a yellow 18oz Hydroflask, and making it something extraordinary. Covering it in Caravaggio paintings and hermaphroditic angels, trippy mushrooms drawn by the girlfriend of an old friend, and the logos of my favorite small brands. My personal style lies in my ability to collect and arrange these things artfully. All color-bursts and classical imagery. My water bottles, my laptop, my projector and DVD player. Any otherwise bland surface comes alive.

Twice now, I have mentioned the artist ArrogantKei. His stickers adorn all of my journals and I’m planning to re-up with every new release. I have clothing of his, prints, a tote bag, keychains, and a giant woven blanket that swaddles my couch. He also recently started releasing jewelry, which I haven’t gotten yet, but I only really wear silver on my hands. Maybe if he makes rings someday I’ll bite. I would describe his art style as very digital and futuristic, but classically human, which is an intersection I find myself very drawn to.

ArrogantKei recently collaborated with another of my favorite artists, 730t. Tylor’s art is super trippy, uniquely singular. Again, I have amassed clothing and prints and keychains – everything I can afford – and I’ve been following her journey as an artist, and just generally as a person, for years now.

Another artist whose journey I’ve been following basically since they came onto the scene is loversneverdie. Formerly TITE LIFE (Trust In The Energy, real ones remember), Ellisa makes the coolest clothes, accessories, prints, stickers, etc. about the power and pervasiveness of love, specifically WLW. My most-complimented t-shirts and sweatshirts are hers. In fact, my wardrobe mostly consists of the clothing I’ve obtained from all of these artists.

My obsessions, at least these, are categorical. All about things having their perfect place, beautiful balance, even if I’m the only one who sees it. Maybe I’m just obsessed with myself. Maybe I should be. Maybe everyone should be. Obsessed with themselves, that is, not necessarily with me. The leader of the poetry workshop, the current Poet Laureate of Portsmouth, New Hampshire, waxed poetic about the power of our obsessions – how they are a renewable energy source. If ever we hit a creative block, all we need to do is return to our list (or write a new one, as obsessions are ever-changing) and it will light our fire and keep us warm. This is obviously true, and I want to incorporate compiling a monthly obsessions list (or whenever the obsessive mood strikes) into my creative practice. This wasn’t even half of my first list, but I’ve droned on long enough. Maybe I’ll continue to chronicle them here. Maybe this space will become another sort of tracker, another thermometer for my life.