Morning pages are a sacred artist ritual. They require mornings, and pages. Three blank pages. And of course a pen to write with.

I’m on the road in British Columbia because my kid is playing in the national ultimate championships. Which is super cool.

She’s staying at a hotel with the team and I’m in a Vrbo some 10 minutes away.

For some reason we don’t need to discuss, I only packed one pen for the four days. I was sure it would be enough.

Last morning I start and I don’t reach the end of my third sentence when the pen dies.

I reach into my backpack for the Emegency Backup Pen. Phew. I’ll be able to keep going.

I don’t write two lines and that pen, too, dies. Well.

I reach into a different compartment and grab the Secondary Emergency Backup Pen and keep writing for a grand total of 11 words before its demise.

Only one thing to do: reach once more into the bag for the Everything is Fucked Pencil because as you know those don’t ever die.

Alas, they also don’t sharpen themselves and this poor sucker has no lead to offer beyond a pitiful stub.

I guess I’ll write later.