measi's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- that's where they all went! As the servant of cats, I have long learned that pens, pencils, and other stick-like instruments used to do somewhat important things like bills, letters, to-do lists, et al. do not last long. I buy so many pens, and within a couple days they all seem to walk off. Of course, as I start cleaning out everything in my apartment and get it packed up in late July/early August, I'll start finding piles of pens that have collected in impossible places, usually deposited there by furry paws that can push them into tight places, but don't have the fingers to get stuff back out. It's a feline conspiracy never to allow humans to have pens handy. I'm convinced. I think they make rounds of the apartment making sure no pen is out in the open. I've resorted to leaving a couple in closed drawers. But what confused me is how the same situation was happening at the office. How could I possibly be going through so many pens, and none of them were ever ending up in the trash barrel because they were empty? Unless we have a resident feline in the office, theoretically some of my pens should be safe. Right? Well, I was missing a bunch. Some I knew had found their way to Linda's office. She has kleptomanic tendencies. I make sure to put the ugly pens out for the signature board where people check out ZIP disks so no one takes them. But where are my Pilot G-2 gel pens going? Dammit! Turns out that my paperwork was eating them slowly, digesting them to the bottom of the paper piles. Apparently as I'd worked on something, I'd left the pen there. Then put more paper on the pile, and couldn't find my original pen, so I opened a pack and got another one. All of the poor, abandoned pens appeared this morning as I picked up and restacked a bunch of paperwork that I need to plow through today. I think that this amount qualifies as "a slew." I've got about 15 pens here.. mostly blue (my preferred writing color at work), a couple black (for those more "formal" writings) and a couple metallic gels (for stuff for Linda so she sees it among her own impressivly stacked piles. I have nothing on this woman's talent). Now I'm not sure where I have the shelter to house all of these poor pens. I'm not sure if they're all even mine. It seems that either reproduction has occurred, or adoption. Either way, the poor pens need protection from the elements (co-workers) and the vicious papers that smother and trap them. *starts stacking them in desk drawer and runs for the coffee machine to prevent further hallucinations* 9:53 a.m. - 4 June 2002 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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