Posts Tagged ‘fountain pens’

From Terry Pratchett’s Raising Steam:

Something struck in Moist’s head, causing him to say, “May I ask, Missus Bradshaw, if your handwriting is good?”

She looked down her nose at him and said, “Indeed yes, Mister Lipwig. I used to write a beautiful cursive script for my dear late husband. He was a lawyer and they expect excellence in the writing and use of the language. Mister Slant was always very…particular about that, and no one appreciated the judicious use of Latatian better than dear Archibald did.

“And, may I add, I was schooled at the Quirm College for Young Ladies, where they are very solid on the teaching of foreign tongues, even though Morpokian rather seems to have become the lingua quirma of late.” Mrs. Bradshaw sniffed. “And in working for my husband I learned a lot about people and the human condition.”

I do agree that working in law teaches you, among other things, an awful lot about the human condition. There is nothing quite like standing aside and watching people argue about stuff, or listening to try to understand what people argue about, how people argue, why relationships break down.

All of that makes me quite introspective about life in general, and very circumspect about the things in life that one should or should not worry about.

So I spend a fair bit of time trying to convince my children that whatever they are fighting about is just sometimes simply not worth their effort. Don’t sweat the small stuff. Pick your fights wisely.


The Buddha: What are you doing?
Me: I am soaking out Sentosa Tranquility ink out of my fountain pen.
He: Wasn’t that what you’ve been doing for some weeks now?
Me: Nope. Last week I was soaking out purple. Different ink. Different pen. Different day.
He: It seems like you are forever washing out ink from somewhere. I think you are a bit obsessive about this. Maybe if you just use a normal pen…
Me: That’s like saying “Maybe if you just drive a normal Toyota Corolla…”
He: Good point.

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mints from secretary T

mints from secretary T

It’s Christmas Eve.

I’m so disinterested in work I can’t believe I am even sitting at my desk.

Doodles with the ink I got from my Secret Santa!

Doodles with the ink I got from my Secret Santa!

So if I don’t check in before tomorrow…

gingerbread house with baba-yaga (!!) from secretary A

gingerbread house with baba-yaga (!!) from secretary A

Merry Christmas!! Happy feasting 😀



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Why is it that sometimes when you catch someone pulling a fast one over you, they get all indignant about it? Like discovering that they were pulling a fast one over you is some kind of a personal failing on your part? Like it is my fault that can’t get past the gate? Like it’s my job to leave the gate ajar and even to guide you through with a smile?

Seriously, it is bad enough that you were trying to steal from me. But to try to make me feel bad about you stealing from me? That is just plain wrong.

Now I am all confused because on some level, I would like to salvage the professional relationship: it is just not healthy for us to be avoiding each other this way.

Sometimes, it’s just so not worth it, you know? Since this year started, I have been yelled at by no less than two spouses of opponents who feel slighted on behalf of their other halves. And I am not even sleeping with these people, for crying out loud!

I would like to say that I am deeply misunderstood except that all of the “misunderstood” people I know also tend to be so freaking weird that even I don’t want to talk to them, which is really saying a lot, and it is a little too complicated and existential to try to differentiate the levels of “misunderstood” on a Wednesday morning, as in what is the minimum number of levels you need to by misunderstood on to be qualified to call yourself “misunderstood”. Real life is too complicated for my puny brain this morning.

I’m just all out of sorts today. Maybe that’s because I’m feeling a bit under-appreciated this morning, or maybe it is due to the fact that this is the second day in the row I missed my alarm and woke up late, which probably means that I should sit out lunch in case I buy something expensive.

Oh look. I have a new pen from last week.

Oh look. I have a new pen from last week.

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Mela: If I am giving all these pep talks to people, have you ever wondered who is giving me a pep talk?

The Buddha: Prozac.


I have bought a dress and 6 macaroons (to stop myself from buying a new fountain pen) over the course of this week (which has only been what, two days?). I am (still) on the verge of buying a new fountain pen (which will result in me owning no less than FOUR pens wtf).

I think I should just stop going to lunch.

But it continues…

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I bought this lovely thing today at a pen shop near my office which I’ve never been in for the last 7 years.

I bought it because my old Parker Frontier is missing it’s converter and I can’t draw ink from any of the two full bottles of ink I have sitting on my table top and is condemned to a lifetime of ink cartridges. The whole idea is that the new pen will sit in the office and drink from an inkwell while the Frontier will continue to live its rough and tumble life in my handbag in and out of Court.

But it’s soooo pretty that I want to take it out and all over to show all and sundry thereby committing pen adultery on my poor tortured Parker.

So the first thing I did when I stepped out of the shop was to call The Other Half [who bought me the Frontier pen after I lost my cheap one bought from Mustafa when I first started practice] and told him about my thoughts of committing pen adultery.

“Oh well. A pen is a personal choice,” he said.

But now that I am sitting here at my desk at the end of the day, looking at my old Frontier and remembering all of the scraps that we have gone through and how it has served me so well the last 2 years, I don’t really want to let it go either.


I think I’ll eventually end up buying a new converter for it anyway and maybe retire it to the office instead for a better life of signing letters and amending advices instead of the mad rush of a life of writing notes in Court, falling out of my handbag and leaking ink all over my fingers and attendance notes.

Real life should be as easily sorted out as owning two [equally] lovely pens concurrently.

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