Size doesn't matter...

Today I found the journal that my mom is going to give me for Christmas. (Yes I shop for my own gifts.)
A journal is a very personal thing and I take my writing paraphernalia very seriously. It has to feel right. In my opinion when you pick up a journal it should inspire you. It should make you want to write in it. You should lust after it essentially. And covet it as well.
With that in mind you can certainly see why a body such as myself would feel the need to pick out their own journal.
First of all, it should fall on your eye as something, I dunno, elegant. Majestic mayhaps.
Secondly, it should feel right when you pick it up. This could include size, cover texture, weight, simple make and model, etc.
Thirdly, I'm a stickler for good binding. It should be tight enough that you know it won't fall apart on you and yet loose enough that it can easily fall open to the page you wish to write on.
And (I believe that this is my last point) the pages themselves have to be right. Perhaps you like unlined pages. Perhaps you like your pages lined but widely lined. I prefer narrower lines myself. Also pages that have a touch of elegance, maybe a scroll in the bottom corner. Just not plain, usually. I have seen plain that I liked as well though.
In short it should just call to you. I'm sure I'm not the only person in the world that feels a connection with blank books...
So anyway, I spent at least 45 minutes, probably more, in Barnes & Noble today looking at (and picking up and turning over and flipping the pages of) their extremely satisfactory and excellently diverse selection of journals. And I found it. At first I disregarded it. Though it felt right it looked rather small compared to some, and had unlined pages.
I looked at others. For a long time. I had the choice narrowed down to two...moment of suspense...and then I put both of them back. Neither was perfect. Maybe today wasn't the day I'd find my perfectly complementary journal. Oh well, perhaps better luck later. I went to leave. Passed by the shelf that held this one just once more. Paused. Took it off the very bottom rack. Looked at it again.
It felt right. Soft, dark brown leather with a simple design of scrolling embroidery out of tan thread on the cover, a long tie of braided red, green, yellow, black and white threads complete a tiny splash of color, rough grain pages with sewn binding. It nestles gently in my palm...I write straight enough...Size doesn't matter...