I spent the whole of Sunday obsessing over my space pen, because I’d lost it. I also broke my tooth, but I was far more concerned over my pen. I mean, that pen’s damned good.
I think it’s because I’d had that pen on me, continually, for over a year. I originally brought it because I saw Merlin Mann toting one in a video, which is a terrible reason to buy an expensive pen, but it’s a space pen. It’s the pen made for NASA’s astronauts, and it’s super-duper in that it can write underwater and in fire and upside-down. I’ve tested this (apart from the thing with the fire).
But it’s also tiny. When I came back to recuperate at the Hindle Family Book Repository I knew I’d lose it at some point; tidiness does not run in our genes. In fact, so messy is our house that I knew I wasn’t about to find it after the first five minutes of looking for it. I huffed and I puffed, and generally made a bit of a twat about myself by extolling the virtues of this pen to my parents.
Really, I was just annoyed at myself for losing it. It’s probably the only thing I’ve kept on my person for the whole year. It’s usually warm when I pull it out of my pocket to scribble notes. Or to pass it to somebody who really needs a pen, making me look super-organised (although it’s blatantly obvious I’m not).
In the end, I let it ruin my whole day. I did brake one of my teeth, but I was so annoyed about losing my pen I didn’t freak out and panic like I usually do about dentistry (perhaps this is a side affect of recent events – don’t sweat the small stuff). Eventually, I went to bed, annoyed at losing the pen, but more annoyed at myself for not letting go.
I woke up the next morning and put my favourite jumper on. In the pocket was my space pen; it’d taken all of two minutes to find it, and most of that time was spent working out which arm to put in the armhole.