Stunned by a bumpy landing into Wellington this morning (I will never get used to them) I left my beloved journal behind in the seat pocket. I made it myself out of red leather and am almost through the second set of pages I have sewn into its flexible covers. It contains a random collection of sketches, notes, lists, quotes copied from books, plans, poems, ideas for poems, ideas for books, phone numbers and addresses etc etc.
Discovering the loss once I was home I feel bereft, slightly panicked, abandoned... but I am still in the denial stage, it is still too early to grieve. I left a long, desparate message on the Air New Zealand lost luggage answerphone. Surely it won't have been mistaken for trash.
Yesterday, in Dunedin I had scribbled notes for this blog about making books for exhibition which I had meant to type here today. But instead I am lost.
If it doesn't come back I will make myself a girdle book, so it stays tied to me all the time and can't be left behind.