Exploring what life could be like if we weren't buried in clutter, burdened with too many possessions, and surrounded by chaos.

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Just how sick am I, exactly?

March 7th, 2013 · 2 Comments · Uncategorized

This is my pen cap collection.

It lives in a can labeled “pen cap orphanage.”

One (1) can. Just one. One can, but many pen caps. At least I don’t have packing crates filled with them — yet. And I’m not going to let that happen, either.

But first: I know you’re wondering about the big Y of it. Well, it’s because I find it disturbing when pens are left without their caps. So I save loose pen caps that I find, with the idea that I’ll always have a replacement cap at the ready. But of course, my own pens are never without their caps. Ever.

The pens without caps are elsewhere, in the hands of inconsiderate users who don’t even think about these things. I would never even be friends with someone like that, let alone invite them into my house. Therefore a pen cap orphanage in my home is useless. I’m just now realizing that. It may seem obvious to you, but to me it’s an epiphany.

Where I work there’s someone who goes around taking off all the pen caps as a matter of routine. [And I’m the sick one?] No one knows who it is. Some day that person will be lost in the desert and die a long slow death of dehydration and see what it’s like.

Meanwhile I’m transferring my orphanage to my workplace, where it’s certain to be useful. I’ve made it a point to obtain almost every color and size of pen cap ever made so I’ll be able to rescue any type of pen.

If I were a known conceptual artist, I could get no end of recognition for my kindness, but since I’m not, my mental health is called into question.

The next item I’m going to post about, however, might make pen caps look really sensible.


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