I purchased a PDA almost two years ago after making the (somewhat impulsive) decision to replace my paper planner. The device was wonderfully small — it fit so nicely in my messenger bag! — and easy to use. I could access and modify my calendar, notes, and to-do lists from my computer. I could type in all that information. Best of all, I could download all sorts of interesting games and programs for my unending amusement. What a beautiful, lovely thing. Why hadn’t I done this sooner?
Paper, that’s why. It was the damned paper. That, and my affinity for pens. And for holding pens. And for writing with pens. And for outlining my evil, world-domination plans with pens.
I missed my paper planner so much I would cry (even evil world-domination planners need a good cry, it would seem). I missed hand-writing everything into my calendar and sticking little post-its with updated info in my address book. I missed flipping through the pages and being able to read everything in a single glance. I missed having a secure place to jam my bills and letters, a place I would actually look at everyday that I might remember to mail my stuff in a timely fashion and avoid ominous phone calls from strange people looking for their money. Again. I missed the weird plastic pockets I used for holding receipts, ticket stubs, and the odd photo or two. I especially missed the dorky joy I would feel when purchasing new calendar refills at the end of each year. Oh yes, I missed my little black planner.
But I really liked my little gadgety thing.
So now I carry a larger bag and use both — the gadget for work, the planner for everything else in my life. It is a practice that sort of defeats the purpose of either instrument and yet I persist, content with the knowledge that both my paper fetish and my enjoyment of gadgety things are happily satisfied. How could something so wrong feel so right?
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