I know that I’ve sort of become known for my little “first world” problems rants about my life, but can I just tell you about the most recent situation to really chap my hide?
I am particular about my writing utensils. And by particular, I mean absolutely anal retentive. I hate ballpoint pens. I like pens that flow and write with ease. When I was in college, I was so obsessive about pens that I bought a new pen every time I took a final. A pen, a blue book and grape gum. I don’t like worrying if my pen is going to work well, or run out of ink, or do that terrible dry scratching across paper that annoys the hell out of me. I like flow, baby.
Recently, I bought a sweet little six-pack of Uniball pens. The colors were perfect: hot pink, burgundy, turquoise, purple, sea foam green. I loved them immediately. I could grade papers and write and it was so lovely and easy. It was a simple time. A happy time. I had bright color options, a steady ink flow, and JOY.
My became obsessed with color-coding my planner. I have so many things going on this year, between teaching, a teacher support program I am required to be involved in, a program I coordinate, my own fun life, and a billion other things, or so it seems. See?
My life seemed fun. Boring meeting? THAT GOES IN BRIGHT BLUE. Friend’s birthday? PURPLE. I loved being able to look at my calendar and see exactly what I had going on during a day, just by color alone. An OCD person’s dream come true.
I made the mistake of taking my pens to work. I kept them in a tiny, polka dotted pouch. And darn it, I loved the pouch almost as much as I love the pens. It was bright, cute, fun…easy. And I was happy.
But I went to grade papers last week, and realized my little pouch was nowhere to be found. I called Andrew in a frenzy asking him if he’d seen my PRECIOUS POUCH OF PENS.
No, he had not.
I of course assumed that he was experiencing Male Pattern Blindness and that surely, they were somewhere to be found around the apartment. I tore my desk at work apart, looked in my car, searched high and low. ALL FOR STUPID PENS.
When I arrived home, I found that Andrew was indeed correct: they were gone.
Seriously? I was upset, y’all. Like, ridiculously frustrated. I know it’s a weird fetish, but I seriously can’t work unless I have the right pens. I began watching my students, wondering if they’d stolen my pens. I suspected the janitor, my co-workers, everyone who’d been in my classroom. Who would do such a thing: deprive a girl of her pens, her lovely, sweet Uniballs? WHO? This, my friends, is injustice.
But, after 24 hours, and a lot of searching, I had to march myself down to Office Depot, purchase Pens Part Deux and a new (UGLIER!) case.
It was a sad day, and parting with $10 for new pens was tough. But, my planner is organized, my papers are graded and all is right with the world.
Let this serve as a warning: IF YOU TOOK MY PENS, I WILL FIND YOU.