You know the corner where the journals end up.
There's the floral one you bought for gratitude and the black one you meant for big ideas. Under them is the one with the first nine pages ruled perfectly. Each of them made sense the day you bought it. Then you sat down with a thought, couldn't decide which book it belonged in, and wrote it nowhere. "I think it's adorable that they think I have one drawer of unfinished journals," one woman wrote in a comment in October. Nothing is wrong with you. A book with one job and one place to be was always going to lose to a busy week.

