One lone pen. Singular. A pencil would have worked as well. But all I could find were sharpies. Of every color in the rainbow, and then some.
Let me rewind for a second.
I frequently post pictures on Facebook and Instagram of my life. Of the pretty things. Kale smoothies sitting on a perfectly pressed table runner, with gorgeous sunlight pouring in. Plush pillows that I have hand-sewn and are neatly placed in my comfy little reading cove. Date night where I’m all gussied up and dressed to impress. The perfect shade of red lipstick on my lips as I’m driving down the road in [what looks like] my clean car. My passport full of stamps. Always, always, pretty things. And the occasional future blackmail shot of one of my younger siblings.
I’ve had more than a few comment on my “perfect” life. How fun and exciting it is. How cute this or that is. How healthy my diet is. It all looks so Anne of Green Gables. And, truth be told, if I followed myself on Instagram, I’d think that I was living in a bit of a
Stepford Wives Real Housewives of OC life too. Because in pictures, it all looks so …. in place.
But here’s what you don’t know:
In order to get that pretty picture of my kale smoothie lunch, I had to move a pile of crap from the table to the chair.
Those pillows that you saw in my reading nook are indeed plush, but so is the huge pile of laundry on the floor, just below those pillows.
And date night? Well lately I’ve been slacking big time on them because I’ve been way too engrossed in work.
95% of the time you see me in red lipstick it’s because I didn’t shower that day. And my car is absolutely 110% never clean. Like, ever.
And while I love a full passport, I always “forget” to mention that it takes me, without fail, 2 months to unpack from every.trip.I.go.on. And I go on a lot of trips, so you can only imagine the amount of unpacked suitcases and bags I have laying around. When i do decide to unpack one, it’s like Christmas. “Ohmagahhhh, I TOTALLY forgot I owned this shirt!”. Boom.
So last week, when I needed a pen, I went to the exact place it should be: my desk. Top drawer. The one that sits right above my lap every hour of every day of every week of every year. The one single drawer that is supposed to be used for all the things I need often. Like pens and pencils and paper clips. But last week when I opened it up, I found no pen. Not a single one. Instead I found a myriad of more crap. More junk. More things shoved to the side, probably to make way for yet another pretty instagram, photo. I found my original business cards and a set of press on nails. I found the ring I’ve been trying to find for 5 months, seamstress measuring tape, and an old parking ticket (that hasn’t been paid, obviously). I found a pack of tic-tacs and a note from a good friend. I found every bobby pin that I ever convinced myself grew legs, and about the same amount of ponytail holders. And more. But a pen? A pen I did not find. Nor a pencil.
And so I decided to keep it real with you guys today. Because although I think I’ve got a pretty sweet life, you must realize that it is far from Stepford. And if you ever doubt that, just call Adam and he will tell you in about 4.672 seconds that I am, indeed, a mess.
And if you are wondering what to get me for Christmas, a few BIC Atlantis 1.66mm pens will do. And, this time, I promise to keep them in my desk.