02 July, 2012
Ordinarily, this would not be such a big deal, but at the time, I was a few miles deep in the forest while my ink sat useless on top of a stack of so far unread books at home (an eight book set of Anne of Green Gables I bought for $1.50 at a library sale in New Jersey). My electric light shone brightly on my journal as I tried desperately to at least finish the sentence in my birthday entry, but it was not to be. I had run dry.
My pen is perhaps my most prized possession; certainly, it is the most expensive -- if you don't count Topia, my loyal beetle. I've only had my montblanc for about four years, but in that time it has served me well in situations good and bad. Perhaps I was naive, however, to just assume it would not run out of ink while I was in the center of a dark forest at night.
Still, it's no justification for getting irritated on my birthday. I'd chosen this venture because I wanted some alone time. Far be it from me to dictate that alone time must be spent on journal writing. My light was still functioning quite well, after all. So I took out a book I haven't read for almost a decade at this point: Boethius' Consolation of Philosophy.
It is a well-worn copy, though not by my hand. I found it in a store of a battered second hand shop somewhere in the midwest, I think. It's a nineteenth century edition, with writing in the margin of the first few pages from at least three previous owners. Although I have a copy of the same text published in the twenty-first century, it just feels cooler to read Boethius in a dark mountain forest on my birthday from a book that is four times older than I am. One day, I will get a kindle, but in the meantime, I can't help but consider this method much more awesome.
Suddenly, the sky lights up brightly, and I realize a storm is headed my way. As I gather up my fold-out chair, electric light, books, journal, headphones, iphone, walking stick, backpack, pen, water bottle, and bag of nuts, I wonder to myself: why didn't I bring an umbrella?