There’s absolutely nothing I actually need besides a few Parker gel refills (perfection), but that’s not put a dent in my irrational hankering for a little something more. It doesn’t help that a new Staples store opened up here not long ago, either. I can hear the notebook-and-journal sirens’ song clean through the walls of this house.
And that’s just the new stuff. I’m an avid gatherer of all things vintage. Ebay has become a curse and a blessing, because where else are you going to find those old pop-up phone indexes and boxes of air mail stationery? I’ve hunted like a fiend and it appears everyone in Arkansas is either still using them or threw them away when Nixon left office. Someone has to literally die and have their secret office drawers up for inspection at estate sales around here, which is too morbid and sad even for an addict like me.
I want an two-toned Swingline stapler, but not enough to dig through the used casserole dishes of some lovely woman who’s just gone to her Great Reward. That’s just wrong.
So tomorrow I’m heading out and won’t come back until I have a clipboard, post-it notes, onionskin paper – something – in hand. A cursory look around tells me I’m a little low on snazzy designer file folders and that won’t do.
I. Must. Replenish.