The little black book. That iconic symbol of little secrets and juicy personal histories. What wondrous revelations and private details one could discover scribbled on the pages between the covers, if one had the opportunity...or motive.
I don't own a little black book. I, on the other hand, have a little blue book (ever the individualist). I started mine over 10 years ago. Is it filled with names and dates and gossip tidbits to make your brain spin out of control from the shock of it all?????
Oh, that I wish it would. But, no. Mine is filled with the lists of my life. I can't carry my computer with me ( Sorry, I don't own an iPhone or a Blackberry. Well...actually I'm not sorry at all. I'm perfectly happy with my little 'ole plain cell.) But I have a very portable collection of plethora (don't you just LOVE that word) which serves me as well as any memory stick.
Let's see. Oh! There's the listing of new items we have purchased from cars to appliances to furniture. And what to pack when traveling depending on the mode of transportation. Destinations I want to visit. Can't forget the charities I'm going to donate some of my as-yet-to-be-made fortune (or lottery winnings) to when the time comes. Restaurants I want to dine in sometime. Friends I want to have lunch with--and I am actually making inroads with that goal!! You should see the eight pages of books I want to read. There's a list of movies to watch as well.
I believe it is the Marines that have a dictate something like "Live by the code". Interpret that for my life and it becomes "Live by the list". Maybe some day my little blue book will grow up to morph to that black connotation.
Nah. Probably not. Which means my existence won't be fraught with gossip rag junk and stuff that gets leaked and lies and ugliness. Hey! How cool is that!!?!
