While at the airport in Miami on Friday, I wanted to write down a very important thought and went rifling through my backpack for my composition book. Now, for the last year or so, I've carried a composition book with me to every meeting, conference, class, and coffee shop trip, so it's become quite an important part of my life.
Missing. Composition. Book.
It has notes in it for articles I want to write, revisions to classes I'll teach again next year, ideas for research projects, to-do lists for every day of every week, poetry I'm in the midst of, and wandering thoughts about my identity, status, tenure potential, etc. Very important.
Here's what happened:
I was in Miami for the National Reading Conference, which is a fantastic opportunity to get tons of information and ideas, but also my one chance to see friends from graduate school. One of those friends from graduate school and I went out to dinner (a Cuban place -- the food was supposed to be good, but ended up being mediocre) and I didn't want to go back up to my room to put away my composition book. So . . . you guessed it, I left it with the concierge, very carefully taping my room number on the front of the book.
When I came back, we sat in the bar and had drinks, it got late, I got sleepy, so I headed up to my room. The next morning, I had a flight at 7 AM, so I left the hotel at 5:15, again completely forgetting about my life in the composition book at the concierge table.
So, Eduardo, I've sent you an email and spoken to you on the phone. If all of the planets are aligned, and if you read this, please, please, please send me my composition book. I'll be eternally grateful.