Why I Steal Ink Pens

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Oh my.  Read Why I Steal Ink Pens.

It’s almost surreal to find a twin, and not someone who looks like me or has my same life experiences or mannerisms. Nope, it’s someone who shares my neurosis… I’ve found someone who’s just as freaky about pens.  Yep.  Pens.

I write in a journal.  Well, I’ll write just about anything.  Grocery lists, outlines of my yoga classes, quotes, things to do for the day. Lists are all around me.  I like to experience life with a pen in my hand. And those of you who know me well and have borrowed a book of mine, you know it contains lines and lines of ink, marking what could only be remembered by calling it out.

I click the pen top up and down while I’m thinking.  Right now it’s a Bic Round Stic, black.  And the ink can’t blot on the paper or get clumpy.  I’ve developed a discriminating taste for which ones I’ll use.  There’s actually a “drawer of the dead” near the kitchen where all the Has-Been pens live.  I used to be obsessed with office supplies as a child and still swoon around them.  It’s a rather safe addiction, I suppose. I am comfortable with a pen in my hand.

So, how do I feel about discovering this connection to my new twin?  It’s embarrassing.  And oh-so comforting.  I think I’ll write her a letter.

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