I have an addiction...

Hi.

My name is Christina, and I'm a pencil-aholic.

I may need to check into a rehabilitation clinic, preferably in some warm, sunny locale with a beach and spa nearby.

You see, it all started when I began my job. I have a job where I and my colleagues actually get to draw and colour every shift, using pens, pencils, pencil crayons, felt markers, and whatever else we can get our grubby little hands on. You all may have a hard time imagining such a job even exists, but let me assure you, gentle reader, that it does. I can't tell you what it is, because then I'd have to kill you. Actually no, I wouldn't, but I couldn't stand the ridicule and mockery you would heap upon me so I'm not telling you. So let's just leave it at the fact I get to draw and colour every time I'm at work.

Each and every desk at my workplace has a wondrous box, cup or other suitable object filled with drawing and colouring implements, along with an electronic pencil sharpener. No old, squeaky, hand-cranked pencil sharpener, it's only the best for me and my colleagues! However, some of us are too good for the communal implements, and carry our own personal implement-holding objects containing our own custom mix of drawing/colouring implements.

I am such an individual.

Now inevitably, the communal implements get left scattered around the desk at the end of each shift, and the oncoming shift has to make the decision whether to continue to use these or to clean up after their lazy predecessor and put them away back into the communal implement-holding object. I always make the latter decision, because as aforementioned I carry my own personal stash of implements.

Occasionally, however, there is scattered in amongst the communal implements a brand new, freshly sharpened, yellow HB pencil.

For some reason I have yet been unable to ascertain, this particular drawing implement calls to me like a siren the likes of which are only found in sailing myth, legend and lore, weaving her spell while singing on a rock or beckoning from the foamy, dark depths of the ocean.



A very artistic photo of my pencil case and HB addiction.

 Inevitably, this pencil gets adopted by me and joins his identical siblings in my trusty Sesame Street pencil case which my mother made for me back in Grade 10. I won't say how many years ago this was, let's just leave it at it's been awhile. Last count found five of these wondrously addictive pencils in residence, along with two personalized pencils that were gifts, and three mechanical pencils, along with other oddities such as a small rock and a couple almost-dead highlighters. 

Truly, this has got to be one of the most bizarre addictions ever.

In the meantime be rest assured, fair reader, that if we manage to survive the catastrophe coming in December 2012, I have got the whole pencil gig covered. 

Now if you'll excuse me, I see a lovely yellow HB sticking out of the communal pencil cup.