Sometimes I write because I have nothing better to do. Or I'm at work, which is basically the same thing.
Today, it seemed every pen I picked up was broken. So, I wrote first with a blue pen, and second with a black, older pen.
This pen is broken and leaking all over the well-behaved pens and pencils. This pen is anxious to break free and start a new society of wild, free-inking pens, like how it believes all pens behaved in the 1960's. This pen is a radical; you can tell from its leaky spout. This pen creates dream-boards that it stares at every night before bedtime. This pen reads Ferlinghetti and dreams of California. This pen wants to be more than just a pen and it hopes that reincarnation is real and that it will be reborn as an eagle or an owl or a hummingbird. This pen is eager to shed all its ink and let its new life begin!
This pen heard about the leaking ink trend of its younger cohorts while reading its newest copy of The Atlantic. This pen felt trepidation. This pen has a 401k and more to lose, financially speaking. This pen is no spring chicken. After many days of deliberation, this pen decided to go on a paid leave and explore the free-inking communes that are springing up all across the country. This pen's ink is running dry, after all, and this pen has decided that it only lives once.
That's it. Then I had to go back to work. I don't know why I feel the need to apply personalities to absolutely everything. Just yesterday, I thought a used tissue looked British.