Some days are just a bit much and I feel as though I am one of those drink boxes that has been sucked dry. Not merely emptied, but vacuum packed, totally compressed, nothing left to give, used up. Dry. Exhausted. Done. Spent.
Sometimes, when life threatens to overtake what remaining sanity I have left, I focus on the little things. Those microcosms of life that remain, for the most part, unchanged. The little things that offer some portion of comfort or security, that tie me to past memories of happier, or at least less stressful times. Some say they are my adult version of a security blanket. I say, they are Just Me. So, what are the Little Things?
Last night, it was my PaperMate Sharpwriter Pencil.
Not the new “clicky” ones with the same size lead ( I know they SAY it’s the same, but it is NOT– it doesn’t sliiiiiiiiide across my paper in the correct, smooth, non-squeaky manner), And those “nouveau” colorful barrels and deceivingly narrower grip?? Really? No thanks. It might be more “aesthetically pleasing and popular”, but it just doesn’t “feel” right in my hand.
No, I mean the “old school”, yellow (think #2 pencil), twist-the-end-to-advance-the-lead so you get JUST the right amount kind. Oh, and the pink eraser on the end! Don’t forget the pink on top!
I have no idea what it is about these pencils. I first discovered them in high school in a creative writing class. I have had a serious addiction ever since. They come in packs of 3, 6 and 12. I, of course, always buy the 12 pack! I mean, you need one, or three, in your purse, desk, car, brief case, kitchen, bed side table, piano bench, computer desk, and , well, you get the picture. These are not refillable which some would see as a negative quality. I say this is a bonus! Why? Well, since I am Just Me, I tend to
lose, misplace, relocate things all the time. So, it would not be in my best interest to own a “nice” pencil since that would only add to my stress level when it was “relocated” without a forwarding address. If it turns up missing, I’m out, roughly 77 cents, a loss I can reluctantly live with.
Pencils provide flexibility. When I write with a pencil, I am free to explore and change my mind, revise my thoughts. It’s a fluid process. I can grow there.
But, boy, put something in ink- wow! You’re committed baby! Don’t get me wrong-there are places for ink. I’m not completely against the idea, but being able to change, there’s comfort there. It doesn’t seem so blastedly FINAL.
So, there I was, all relaxed, with my faithful, trusty pencil and my journal, but that’s a “Little Thing” for another day.