I can't find my fountain pen – the burgundy one my father gave me for
Christmas, when he took me shopping the day before I flew back to
Canada. I last wrote with it in the lab. My research notebook is here,
but no pen… Could I have dropped it on the way to the library? But I
wasn't carrying anything except for my ID card and my notebook; I
didn't need to take notes. I've turned my pockets inside out, searched
the pockets of my bag, checked every nook and cranny… I remember
noticing that it wasn't with me when I returned to Graduate House, but
because I didn't have my research notebook then, I thought I might've
left it tucked inside. Waah!

And yes, I know, my fountain pen is one of my guilty pleasures – what
luxury when everyone gets by on ballpens and pencils! – but it has an
old-school charm about it, and I loved using it…

I'll turn my room upside down later, after my paper. If not, I wonder
where I'll be able to find a nice, slim, piston converter pen,
preferably a broad-nibbed pen with a burgundy case and some heft…

Waah.

(And yes, Mark, I'll get back to work on my paper as soon as I get this thing out of my head…)