There is beauty in repetition, the steady accretion that comes with committing to one thing day after day. Yuji Agematsu collected bits of debris in his cigarette packs on his daily walks, and they became a gloriously deranged calendar. What could I commit to doing each day? A couple hundred words and a photograph or a collage? Perhaps there’s some sense to be made—or good nonsense to be found—in the debris of my old notebooks.