fountains of frustration.

i woke up on saturday morning positively determined to set forth in my pursuits of academic excellence. i started off in the kitchen where i brewed up a tasty mug of coffee and then promptly sat down on the couch to watch television. problemo numero uno. should never ever have turned on the boob tube. at this point my brain does an about face and insists that it is imperative that i write a letter to my pal, before i start my studies. sure thing. why not? it will get the noggin juices flowing. right. problemo numero two. i snagged some paper and started my communication. now, it needs to be said that i am a pen snob (and yes, freakishly picky), although my tastes change depending on my mood. some days i want the basics, namely a papermate medium point blue ballpoint pen. other days i gleefully swirl ink across the paper with my pilot g-2 gel pens. then there are days when i am satisfied with the pure genius of the sharpie pen (yes, it is as delectable as its commercials imply). but, on saturday i wanted the crème de la crème. a fountain pen gracefully spewing my higgins black india ink.

easy right? ummm..not in my world. i located my stash of fountain pens only to discover that none were willing to provide a free-flowing ink experience. i gathered up some supplies - water, and paper towels - and sat on the floor prepared to do battle with the innards of the first pen. i dismantled the pen, washed it out, reassembled it, and added ink. after some wheedling, i caught a glimpse of ink emerging from the nib. i hastily started drawing loops across the paper, intent on encouraging the ink to appear. it did. and then it promptly disappeared. argh! after about twenty torturous minutes, i moved on to the next pen. same story. this time, the ink was a little more forthcoming, except the remnants of blue residing in the ink well refused to give way to the black. grrrrr. this brought me to my third (and final) fountain pen. the superlative tombow fountain pen, which i received many moons ago, as a christmas present from my brother. long story short, this pen did NOT appreciate the third disassembling of its guts, choosing instead a fate much worse - a snapped in half ink well. gasp! the horror the horror! yes. my desire to finagle this pen into demonstrating its prowess as a writing implement, resulted in its demise.

at this point i have not only reached my wits end, i have expended THREE hours cleaning pens, staining my fingers black with ink, and making a general mess. i still have nothing to show for my efforts. but wait! a glimpse into my memory reveals that perhaps there are more fountain pens to be found. ahhh..yes. i found two more. rather than bore you with the details, i shall simply say that these two pens did not revive any better than the first three. so FIVE hours after the ordeal began, i had to resort to my trusty standby, the koh-i-noor technical pen. i filled the ink well with my black india ink and began the letter anew. the pen worked as expected, but the writing experience with a technical pen is incomparable to a fountain pen. this prompted TWO hours of scouring the internet for reasonably priced fountain pens. this experience might qualify me to steal my best friend's title "queen of procrastination," but i am left wondering if i can justify to the mister why i find it imperative to spend $25 on a pen. me thinks he will not understand.

nothing. nada. zilch.

on the third day of a long weekend i cannot help but pondering what i have done the last couple of days. the answer on the surface appears to be: absolutely nothing. then again since i have not just laid prone like a lump of flesh, i must have been doing something. i suppose the great question is what. possessing a tendency to be a hermit, i have discovered that there are a number of people who are patently curious as to what on earth i find so entertaining within the confines of the eight hundred and fifty square feet the mister and i call home.

this weekend i made a point of trying to avoid anything bearing even an iota of stress. some folks consider partaking in stressless activity akin to doing nothing. so be it. however, if we choose to analyze the four thousand twenty minutes since i arrived home on friday evening, i feel as though i have accomplished a great many tasks. i watched gads of tennis from the united states open. i spent an inordinate amount of time creating the perfect schedule for the reading portion of my teaching. i cooked potato pancakes. i read the news. i baked cookies. i read a book. i snuggled with the husband. i sewed. and i wrote letters.

yes letters. you know, you pick up a pen and write a message on a piece of paper. you fold up said paper and carefully slide it into an envelope. write the recipient's address on the envelope, write your own address on the envelope, and secure some stamps on the top right corner. put in mailbox. this is becoming a lost art. i am one of those wonky folks who believe that email, while amusing, is not the end-all-be-all of communication. i am still passionate about writing letters, although the time i have for such a delicious activity seems to dwindle more with each passing day. that doesn't stop me from collecting paper to create envelopes and cards. oh no, that supply grows almost daily. the mister views this paper collection as if i am collecting and storing trash. naturally, i do not see garbage, i see possibilities. lucky for me, my husband loves me so much that he puts up with my paper-hoarding habits, with hardly a complaint.