I like to write. Actually, I love to write — especially in the analogue medium (a.k.a. old school pen and paper). I’ve kept a journal since I was twelve. What most people don’t know is that I had the most PROFOUND thoughts between the ages of twelve and sixteen. Meanwhile, I learned that writing is an invigorating and instructive practice. When I hit twenty, I realized everything I wrote at twelve years old makes absolutely no sense unless you’re twelve years old...

So, enough about me. Let’s think about how many times I made you laugh with random ridiculous pictures and silly status updates that frequently refer to liquor... How do you think I produce that stuff? The answer is simple: I’ve been writing nonsense since I was twelve and I have the notebooks to prove it.

Now my friends, my plight is this: I’m running out of pages to write on. My calfskin notebook from Crane’s (don’t get me started on how lovely Crane’s cotton paper is because I’d never shut up) will soon be completely filled. You see, sometimes only paper will listen. So at 4 am, when I’ve got so much to say and no paper to talk to, I might give you a call and talk your ear off. You would then want to kill me for disturbing your sweet, sweet slumber.

I’d like to ask you now to take preventive measures from this troubling situation. Unless you enjoy late night/early morning phone calls regarding my feelings and ideas, you should probably contribute to my Epica Fund. It is much like the Charlotte wears nothing but agnes b. Fund from a previous entry (which you can still read and donate to by clicking here).

My new Epica Fund will allow me to continue my nocturnal writing/talking without disturbing the sleep of others. The Fund will remain open until it is possible to obtain one of these:

You may view details about this beautifully crafted journal on the Epica website. Click on the Paypal link below to contribute to my Fund. You can also throw in a few extra bucks to get me some grammar lessons.

Socially aware philanthropists might do something more generous and start a fund collecting much needed aid for earthquake victims in Haiti and Chile, or maybe finance awareness campaigns for social justice in Burma (also called Myanmar, which you should read up on, because Burma needs support and Aung San Suu Kyi is an inspirational character). I, on the other hand, remain self-absorbed and indulgent.

I would not ask you to invest in anything like my stock portfolio (Which I hear should include “cloud computing” companies, but I can’t begin to understand what the hell that’s all about...) But a handmade Italian leather notebook with unlined blank pages is a lifetime investment that becomes a treasure when it’s filled with, well, whatever I decide to fill it with.

How could I assume that my friends would (collectively) grace me with such a special gift? I don't. The only people who might even benefit from my writing would be my future mini-Charlottes. They may, one day in very far future, visit your home and cook for you. My kids would cook well, but probably not clean well, just like their mother. Leave it to me to sign up my unborn children to slave away in the kitchen for you.

However, should they decide to peruse the thoughts I had when I was a beautiful young woman, they will know that my friends were gracious enough to preserve my written words in an elegantly crafted journal. And to show their appreciation, they’ll cook you a damn good meal.

p.s. I will likely get the camel colored journal.

p.p.s. That’s a real Paypal link you can donate to, I’m not kidding...