I left one of my 10 faithful readers Mrsupole a reply to her comment the other day about organizing. She spoke of having journals around the house to help her with the CRS affliction so many of us share. I mentioned that I kept a supply of Post-It Notes pads in every room so at a moment’s notice when a stray thought or a To-Do hits, I can quickly make note of it before the dreaded CRS attacks my neural network leaving me pacing in circles while mumbling under my breath, “Why’d I come in here?”
What I neglected to mention was having these Post-It pads strategically placed around my home doesn’t do me much good if there is no pen in the vicinity. And guess what?
I can’t find any flipping pens in this house. It is as if the pens are in a different reality, a dimension all their own; they’ve dropped into (cue music) The Pen Zone. Firmly convinced that pens are not inanimate objects but do, in fact, communicate with one another, I have tried to tune in my own super acute hearing to their frequency. Nope — can’t hear the chatter of the Bics nor those roller ball Uni-things; not even the Sharpies are making a sound. Enlisting the aid of EmmaLou, Golden Destroyer returned a doggie response of, “Sharpies? Sharpies? Sharpies have moved into the neighborhood? Can they come out and play?” Poor dear thought I was talking about Shar Peis and she got so excited, well, let’s just say I had to run for the paper towel supply and the bottle of Resolve. Turns out, EmmaLou cannot hear the frequency pens use to communicate either, but she can hear the rattling of cellophane on a fortune cookie from two floors away.
It isn’t that I don’t own any pens. On the contrary, on any given day I can be found wandering the pen/pencil/eraser/highlighter aisle of my local Office Depot and it is rare, indeed, I leave the store without at least one package or box (a dozen is so much more comforting) of pens in hand. So the pens are here in this house somewhere.
When I come across a stray pen (they sneak out at night and scribble then at dawn disappear back to their own dimension) I usually drop it into the pretty Longabarger pen holder in the kitchen next to the house phone. Or I might stash it in an old chipped coffee mug on the desk in my crap room home office neatly organized haphazard study area upstairs. And, lately I have taken to grabbing the errant pen and jamming it into my purse or stashing it in a coat pocket so I can write a check at the grocery store.
But where do all the pens go that are normally placed next to the Post-It pads — like the cute Post-It pad that says Live Simply, Live Well, Life is Your Dance, which I keep on the table next to my comfy chair? I thought this Post-It Note pad was significant because of the theme Live Simply but how can I Live Simply if I can’t even find a ^&$% pen? Oh crap on toast.
You know what I CAN find around here? hair scrunchies. There are tons of them popping up in the oddest places (kitchen drawer) and I know I’m not bringing them into this house – I haven’t bought a hair scrunchie (scrunchy?) in ages because it’s just recently that my hair has gotten long enough to pull it into a ponytail and hair scrunchies are not all the rage any more. I also have more than my fair share of those little wired green paper covered twistie tie thingies you put around the plastic bag of fruit from the grocery. Those I have in abundance. Ever try to jot down a note with a green twistie tie? It doesn’t work.
Some day, far in the future, when I am long gone and this house is covered by several hundred feet of dirt, archaeologists will dig on this very spot and will discover 100,817 strange skinny plastic cylinders with the remnants of a dark substance in the cylinder, a few hundred pieces of paper that stick to each other but have no writing on them, and pottery shards with strange markings which will be deciphered as the words “Bite Me” from what once was an ancient coffee mug.
Finding those pens in this century is not looking promising.