The Lost Sketch Book

I just spent well over an hour and a half searching the entire house for my good sketch book and have yet to find it. The only one I can find is full of scribblings and clothes I like to design for fun with gel pens because I like gel pens. But the missing one, that has my good sketches. The sketch I did of my dad as he sat playing some video game. The portrait I drew of my nephew when he was a baby. The smaller drawing of Orlando Bloom, which turned out much better than the one I drew for my college art class a few years back. A couple other drawings of people. I don't know what it is about faces that I like so much. Sometimes I see someone while out and about and I wish I could draw them. But I'm likely to scare people if I were to walk up to a stranger and say, "Hey, can I take your picture so I can draw you? There's something about your cheekbones that says art." I mentioned how I wanted to draw some random customer I had the other day to a co-worker and she said that sounded stalkerish. Okay. Keeping my stalkerish thoughts to myself from now on. Some faces just capture my attention, is all. I really like drawing.
I haven't drawn in a while. None of the things I used to enjoy doing seem enjoyable these days. I sometimes sit around staring at the walls. I think, "Maybe I should read." But I decide against it.
"Maybe I should watch a movie." Don't want to.
"Maybe I should pull out my oil paints." No.
"I could work on my novel." Not in the mood.
I think it's a bit of depression. Everyone has depression these days. The past year or so I haven't been me, but I can't really find my way back. I feel like I'm going through the motions. Just existing. Maybe I'll open that sketch book, the one with the scibbles, and draw a good sketch. Maybe.
Or I could spend another hour searching for the lost sketch book. Last time I saw it, it was on the fridge. I have looked up there at least eight times, but the notebook of drawings continues to be on my list of lost items. I bet my sister knows where it is. This is her house, but she goes on the road with her husband every other month. Truck driver. Last time I saw it, she was home and it was resting on the fridge, in case I needed it right away. Which, I never do, I haven't drawn in more than a year.
But someday. Maybe tonight.
I am actually in the mood to draw now. Wow. It's all this typing about my darn lost sketch book that has me wanting to pull out my graphite pencils and a stack of photographs. I find drawing from photos much easier than from real life. The picture I drew of my dad was difficult, he kept moving. I prefer taking pictures, then drawing.
I know a professional artist who paints portraits for a living. She has business cards and everything. She really wants to paint the cafe manager. She's good. Paints from photos like I draw from them. But my art is for fun. I want to be an author, though I doubt I will reach the fame of J. K. Rowling or Stephanie Meyer. I'm not that good, I just enjoy it.
Well, I'm off to draw. And continue my search for the MIA sketch book. I'll let ya know if it ever gets found.