I’ve got digital ones and paper ones, white board ones and mobile ones. Sometimes I think they are a procrastination tool. Sometimes I think they are a form of therapy. Sometimes I think they are my brain overflow bin. And sometimes I think they are what makes me productive in the most primary sense of the word. Nevertheless, as I clean up my room and out my bag, I am struck by the habit or ritual and how it defines me. I twitch when I can’t find pen and paper at the right time. The idea of forgetting an idea, task, or necessity seems like death. I wish I could remember who taught me how to make one. They were my savior, my mentor, my muse.