All of my notebooks are half written in. All of my pencils are missing. What a good excuse not to write today.
Actually, I have tons of spiral notebooks and nice mechanical pencils lying here and there throughout my house. I think I’ve unwittingly started a collection. “Oh, I don’t have anything to write in,” I often say, then pick up a new notebook at the local drugstore. When I get home, I realize I have twenty. Then, I’m always losing pencils in couch cushions, behind chairs, under chairs, in drawers. So, it’s off to the drugstore to by a couple dozen more. Of course, the second I get home, flush-faced and smiling with a fresh package of number two pencils, they go missing.
“Mom, have you seen my pencil?” is the most common question around here. In the back of my mind, however, I know that it was her devious plotting and scheming to steal my beloved writing utensils.
Twenty notebooks and no pencils, this can be no good. How am I supposed to get any writing done around here?