The Here and Now

I have a problem with pens.
Pens and markers and pencils, and really any sort of writing implement.

The problem lies with a combination of my distractibility and the ease of misplacing those ink filled canisters of doom.

You see, I lose my makers.
I lose pens.
I lose everything.
In my classroom, while I am teaching.

It’s not all that hard to figure out why. I have the memory of an end stage Alzheimer’s patient and when I get distracted I quickly forget where I set down whatever I was holding. Then, I have to search through my desk to find a new one.

Here’s the catch. My id, knowing my predilection for misplacement, stuffs those inky torture devices into number of different pockets. Moments later, I have forgotten about the pockets, or that I even have pockets and am back at my desk looking for a new one.

By the end of the day you can gauge my stress level by the number of things stuffed into my pockets.

Today I had three markers in my right pocket.
Two markers and a clicky pen in my left pocket.
A pair of scissors tucked into my belt.
A combination lock on my belt loop.
And an easer-less wood pencil in my back pocket.

All and all, not an entirely stressful afternoon.

Usually this extra baggage has no ill consequences.
Except for many trips to nearly empty desk drawers.

But today. Oh today.
I went to the bathroom.
I pulled down my pants.
I began to assume the sitting position, in one, rather quick, movement.

At that moment I was forcibly reminded where I had stuffed a sharp wooden pencil.
In my back pocket.
And now, it is in my lower right ass cheek.

My memory is suddenly clear. It’s a pink and purple Tinker Bell pencil. It was the victim of a vicious eraser removal before I confiscated it.

I stood up and had to actually pluck the pencil from my leg.

The wound on my ass will stand to remind me of what I can never remember.