Archeology

My cheap fountain pen broke…the guaranteed for life cheap fountain pen...so I returned it…asked for a new one but never received the replacement…never heard hide nor hair from them…I imagine some seedy mail order business with no remorse over sending out schlocky merchandise…callous…money grubbing…they’ve got my bucks…and it doesn’t matter to them that my fountain pen broke…they probably tossed my poor broken pen into a trash bin with nary a second thought the minute they got it… I remember it every time I sit down to write…I’m left holding an emotional bag…a very small bag but a bag nonetheless…a loose end that will probably never be bound up…held in the hands of some purveyor of low quality goods…left dangling...too small to spend time flowing it up…but an annoyance that surfaces each time I write…does that make it large enough in its smallness to pursue…probably not…it will just evolve into one of those tiny thoughts that occasionally surface…that look at you for a moment…and recede back into the morass of other annoying incidents where it resides with its friends…I can always hope that someone of conscientiousness has my poor broken pen in hand and will respond with a new one…does such a person exist at the pen company from whence my pen came…a person of righteousness who exists along the morally corrupt…it’s a small hook where I can momentarily hang my hope…but it too recedes quickly as I picture my poor pen already unceremoniously trounced upon in some garbage dump…lying in the midden for some future archeologist digging around…and upon finding it after hours of painstaking brushing shouts Eureka…it had after all gold trim along its slender silver fuselage…alas…poor pen…maybe 3000 years from now you’ll end up in some pen museum…an ancient artifact of my hand…with a small unknown history…or not…more likely crushed to smithereens…pulverized into nothing almost as an organic man goes from dust to dust…tossed into the lime pit with the likes of Mozart…transforming from word-giving implement to bits of matter…and I am reduced to writing with the likes of ball points and fine felt tips…roller balls and gel pens…and so I now have a new quest….find a lovely new fountain pen…and shall I be the purist and use ink from a jar or be the modernist and use cartridges…Tiffany’s has pens…but for shame…they are ball points…through all their beauty…they are lowered…and so I shall search…or perhaps request one for my birthday and rather than search Las Vegas for the perfect pen…keep to the tradition of the annual new purse…leave the pen to the husband to find and buy…and present it to me with great flourish and trumpeting…a new fountain pen…and implement of grace and beauty…of inspiration and creativity to come…ahahah…dream on sweet pea…dream on…