I have several vices, some I admit to and some I would not reveal under water board torture. One of my most persuasive aversions falls upon me during the latter part of summer. When I feel the wind change and the first cool hint in the humid air of late August, I start to have a case of the shakes.

The only thing that will satisfy this wanton desire is to find myself in the bowels of the nearest office supply store where I commence to bury myself up to my knees in all manner of school supplies.

I have been known to push one cart while pulling another, then when the devil has been satisfied and my nerves return to normal, leave the store having not purchased one item, but smiling and completely satisfied nonetheless. My wife has a title for such nonsense: “three ring binder-itis.”

I can give a three-hour soliloquy on the advantages of your three ring binders versus your composition book or typical journal. The main advantage being of course, after having penning a long-winded oratory, and finding it unsatisfactory, jerking out the offending verbiage and beginning again on a page as clean and pure as a wind driven blanket of new fallen snow. You can’t do that with your typical composition book or journal without leaving it looking like a late Thursday afternoon project of the second grade variety. I have been tempted to shoot some of my previous journals to put the sad things out of their misery after many attempts at starting, and restarting, and restarting.

I like a writing utensil that pours forth with a bold expression of ink. I do admire the advantages of the pencil when it comes with a substantial erasure, however, I cannot find a pencil that will release enough emotion to satisfy my angst. I admire a gel-inked pen, until my fingers go with one emotion while the gel feels itself wandering and theoretically looking out the window and being lazy. That is when I need the services of the eraser, but alas, you can’t erase, or correct, the musings of a lackadaisical gel filled ink pen. I suppose I will continue the shallow, but heartfelt, attempts at poetic rhetoric with only my fingers doing the walking on this plastic keyboard of antiquity, while the true, broad strokes of passion plays out up and down the long rows of opportunity at your local school supply store. Oh, the shame and agony, and yet, once again I am full of relief having satisfied the “shakes,” and can now retire for the evening knowing I have done all I can do. To print or not to print, that is the question. But I will print for it is a far, far better thing I do, than not eating. I’ll be right back.

You can reach Joe Lee at clevelandtidbits@yahoo.com.