I am obsessed.

This week, I was walking in a middle-of-nowhere creekbed in an old, abandoned mining town when my son and I happened upon what looked like a glass bottle top poking up out of the muck.

I reached down and pulled it up, and we both gasped. It was intact.

Tonight, safely home, I washed it gently in mild, soapy water and scrubbed it softly with a toothbrush to reveal this blue color. It is a bonafide 19th-century inkwell.

It now has a home on my writing desk. I can't breathe, y'all, and I knew you'd understand.