In Which I Give Up And Buy A New Calendar

I disdain how most calendars are set up.

First off, there is this tiny problem of nearly all scholastic calendars being 18 month calendars, so that when you run out of space, you have to use a calendar that begins in January, and that is so utterly inconvenient. Seriously. December to January is one of the busiest times of year. That is a period where I need to be able to freely flip from one month to the next without having to change books. Just add an extra six months in, and let me have a two year calendar that runs out in July, when nothing happens because the heat has killed everyone.

Secondly, I am apparently a bit of snob when it comes to how my pages are laid out. I want, in my calendar, precisely as follows: I want a week to a spread, with the Sunday at the end of the week and a proportional eighth day with room for extra notes and a calendar of the month. I want, in the front, a section to note weekly standing dates, because I shouldn’t have to write my class schedule in on every freaking page. And I want blank paper in the back for when I need scrap paper. But it also needs to fit in my purse, so no single dimension can be longer than four inches. That’s not too complicated, right?

Right. Except, well, it is. Except, well, I forgot that I’m in Europe, where calendars actually do have Sunday on the end of the week.

I had passed Eason’s every time I went to or from the train station, and a couple times when we had trekked up the hill to get Ann some curry chips from her favorite place to get curry chips (none of the rest of us really cared for it, but whatever). Thus, I finally gave up and went in, hoping against hope they would have what I wanted.

It is a glorious place, not only because it has books, but because good lord it has been a long time since I have seen so many writing supplies in one place, and, well, if you know me, I’m a sucker for stationary. I own far too much. Hell, I own far too many sets of Christmas cards, because I buy them at the beginning and end of each season and you can guess how that piles up. But they are so pretty. I blame my mother. She does calligraphy. She always needed special pens and special paper. While I failed to learn the art of pretty handwriting from her, I did learn the obsession for paper and pens. Because pretty.

Oh, yeah. They also had calendars. Correctly proportioned calendars, too. Mainly in bright, horrifying neon colors, but there was also a pretty one with a black base and butterflies on it, which I suppose will do. I actually quite like it. So I bought it.

Among other things.

Very papery other things.

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