Ode to a pen.

I recently traded up these bad boys for this pretty little thing. Figured it was time to stop clinging to my 0.3 millimeter lines and branch out.

I love the look, which is arguably more authentic than plastic caps and tight letters proclaiming "Document Proof!". It's archaic and affected. I'm also not one to be outdone by another's pretenses. But the act is terrifying and imprecise. The sight of a droplet of India ink grinning over the page nearly had me convulsing. And the metal prongs play a nasty game of grip-and-skip with the ridged paper that will send any line skittering into the void. Beautifully imprecise, I guess. And enough to threaten my already wobbly truce with sanity.

But I have a notion that process is as important as product, and the idea of moving from roots to treetops with one well-handled pen was just too lovely.