Getting to the Ballpoint

I have an obsessions with pens.

The top center drawer of my vintage 1960’s teacher’s desk in my home office barely slides closed due to its overabundance of ink pens. I have to shuffle the packages of Pilot Razor Point pens in 8 colors, with the jumbo highlighters in every perceivable highlighting-friendly color, just so I can close the drawer.

There is also wide variety of Sharpies, in varying point sizes and colors, mixed in with promotional pens from hotels, banks, and businesses. 

Promotional pens are my least-reached for pen. The ink flow is usually uncertain. That kind of unreliability should be avoided if possible.

But one of my favorite pens is of the promotional variety. I carry it with me in my handbag. It came from the escrow company, with which I signed a large stack of forms to sell my home in Austin, in order to purchase my beautiful cozy home in Nashville, Tennessee. Perhaps the good memory makes it a favorite. It’s more likely because of its smooth bright blue flow of ink from a medium point felt tip. 

The Mickey Mouse coffee cup on my desk holds my other favorite and most used pens: the Uni-ball Signo Retractable Gel Pens, Medium Point, multi-color pack. Purple, green, blue and a few other colors with a dash of black ink mixed in, to give them a more grown-up, serious impression. These pens also have a cushioned grip. Comfortable and consistently dependable. But, sadly, they are no longer available for purchase. Perhaps, I will have to opt for plain blue or black ink to replenish my stock in the future.

Mixed among these favorites are a couple of purple ink pens, of various make or model. My favorite ink color since I graduated from pencils to pens in the seventh grade. Do pens signify adulthood to me? Possibly.

When it is time for me to write, whether it be novels, letters, or any manifesto of creativity, such as this here blog even, no pen is used. I type. Directly into my computer. There is a pen to the right of my keyboard, possibly for comfort, but not for use with my work.

But still, my obsession with pens is so strong. 

I suspect my real fascination with pens stems from my childhood determination to improve my penmanship, which was uneven and sloppy (so said my third grade teacher). And I think it morphed into an outlet for personal expression, and even an avenue for creativity.

I am consciously trying to thin my herd of pens, as well as other items in my home. I just have too many. If no ink flows readily from any pen, I force myself to say goodbye to the untrustworthy writing instrument, and then toss it in the garbage. (Should it be recycled?)

A failed pen never sparks my joy.