Instead of a notebook, I have a notebook-sized 28-ring binder. That means the first page is always a clean sheet because I can shuffle the order of the loose-leaf pages around. Last weekend I even got those cardboard divider-tabs: research notes for epic fantasy in the yellow section, quotes and mixed ingredients of ideas (not quite half-baked ideas) that I use as prompts in baby blue, poems and weird dreams in pink, rants/raves/reflections from everyday life in green...
And on Monday, my mom sent me on an errand. I prepared for this quest like I usually do, taking my shoulder-bag off the hat rack and sweeping everything on my bedside table into it: the multi-colored gel pens, wallet, celphone (and charger, ripped off the wall socket along with the sweeping,) wristwatch (that I don't wear because I never got used to the chafing and sweating of dead cow skin even loosely buckled around the wrist... hmm, I ought to get a pocket watch,) instant hand-sanitizer, my notebook--
-- that I could have sworn was eating the pens when I went to sleep Sunday night, in case I woke up in the middle of the night remembering a dream, but it was not there. But I might have woken up, scribbled in it, and slipped it under the pillow, then forgot that I did that because I was sleepy. Or maybe I tossed it to the foot of the bed, where it fell under the bed.
Nope. Nil. Nada.
So I gave up looking and just took up the extra notebook-sized 28-ring binder that I had on the shelf. I didn't want it brand-new, though, I wanted my old one that already had content in it...
... which I looked for when I got back, and every spare moment on Tuesday (looked almost everywhere it could have been), and today (looked everywhere else it could have been).
Edited to add: Found it, thank the Muses
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