A Harmless Obsession(?)

Some addictions are quite understandable and almost an unnoticed pandemic: things like fast cars, video games, funny memes, and Nutella. These things are quite socially acceptable and no one really thinks twice about them. You want a nice car? So does everyone else. Nutella? Duh. Video games? They can suck your life away and you don't even notice. And everyone likes a funny cat meme now and then.

Some people are obsessed with a little bit less mainstream things: like name-brand clothing, $10,000 watches, or rare antiques. "Give me Armani or give me death!" some will say. Still others won't even bother to look at a watch that costs less than $500. 

Then there is that occasional person that owns way more fine writing instruments than one human could ever possibly need: and the average person looks at them as if they were in possession of multiple noses and an extra leg, generally unable to comprehend the idea of having any writing utensil that is not disposable.

In retrospect, I think I was always destined to end up like this. I can remember rooting around in my parents' drawers, looking for nice pens, before I was eight. I was fascinated by them. My dad used to have a couple old fountain pens (Parkers, maybe?) that I would love to get my hands on now, and he has always had a bit of a taste for nicer pens as well.

My own pen collection has grown like an overfed weed in the last few months, and as I remember each of those purchases, I find myself able to easily identify with this feline (speaking of cat memes):

Then I like to justify my...excessive appreciation...for fine writing instruments with thoughts like, "Cocaine is way worse," and, "At least I won't get pulled over for driving while impaired because of my new fountain pen."

In fact, I don't even really like to acknowledge my condition because doing so implies that there is a problem.

I don't have a problem.

I can stop anytime I want to.

Really.

I just don't want to.

And such is the life of a penaholic.