Willy's All Time Bail Bonds

I have a problem. This is my confession. For years I've been trying to come up with a secret to send to Postsecret and I can never think of anything more serious than "I don't respect people who don't like trees." But that's not even really a secret. (oooooh, I blew my cover.)

But I've figured out my secret. My addiction. It's called bíromania.

I am absolutely addicted to pens.

I didn't realize it until the other day when Tim said "if you're going to have so many pens, can you at least make sure they work?" Since he went through ten and none of them were functional.

So this evening (because I clearly need to learn how to meditate or go jogging or something) I went through all of my pens and threw away the ones that didn't work. It took more than an hour. I threw away at least 75 pens. And after all that narrowing I still have at least a hundred more (and that's just the ones that aren't nestled in books, purses, drawers or drawing kits all over the house).

What's worse is that I remember where I got almost all of them. I have at least 7 that say "Icthus" on them, which I clearly stole from someone. I have one from "Willy's All Time Bail Bonds." There's a 20 year-old pen with an eraser from the Paonia Food Bank.

One says "Haliburton Employee Bank" on it. Now that's unfortunate.

I realize it's not hard to remember where a pen comes from if it's written on the pen. So what about the one I found at the Blockbuster on Line Avenue? Or the last one from a set of alien pens I bought for high school my senior year? Or the gel pen I bought at the Target in Grand Junction? Or the two pens I took from Tim in Finite Math (MATH 105) Sophomore year?

What's worse, is that now I realize that the first (THE FIRST) thing I do when I go to a hotel is look for the free pen with the hotel name and put it in my purse. That way if I'm staying with someone else they can't have it. And unlike soap, they don't put another pen in your room so you have to make sure to get the only one. I have at least 20 pens that I've taken from the pen cups at various places of employment. I'M THE REASON THE BOOKSTORE NEVER HAS A PEN.
I've always been able to spot a pen that belongs to me from across the room, and I will forceably take pens back if you borrow them from me. I am more than a little suspicious that I see pens that clearly don't belong to me and think they're mine. (How many black bic pens are there on this planet?) But one thing's for sure, I never look at someone else's pen and get all drooly and covetous unless I think the pen was at one point mine. By the way, if I used it once, ever, that means it's mine.

Don't ever, ever lend me a pen.

At least if I died today, no one could ever say I didn't have something to write with. If I've ever stolen a pen from you, I'm sorry. I probably still have it–though you're not getting it back. And if you ever stole a pen from me, I hope you realize the pain and anguish you've caused me.

I probably won't change any time soon. The last time we went to this restaurant in Boulder called "The Sink," the waiter brought the check and a red pen with their angel logo on it. I paused when I picked it up and Tim said, "just take it; I wondered how long it would take you to put it in your purse." That was two years ago and I still have it. Even though it doesn't write.

At least I don't kill people.