It was past 2am and I was still awake. I was looking for my black ink pen. It wasn't amongst my organized pile of mess on my coffee table. It wasn't amongst the unorganized stash of stationery in the drawer. It wasn't amongst any of the messes on any horizontal surfaces I could think of. Where could it be?
It'd been a long day, I was tired, and I was about to go to sleep. I just wanted to pen a few words before I did, and I noticed my black ink pen wasn't next to the blue one where they should be. So where was it? I remember I used it to write dates and stuff in the new books I got last week. Or was it the week before? Or was it two weeks before? It wasn't where the books were. I can't recall if I put it back. So, where was it?
It was past 2am and I ought to be in bed. I was aware that it was just a pen, and I have many others. I was aware that I misplace things all the time, and they usually turn up the moment I stopped looking for them. Yes, I was aware. So, where was it? Where was it?!
No, I'm not obsessed with a missing a pen. I'm not obsessed with proof-reading and editing a post countless times before and after publishing. I'm not obsessed with having every little thing my way and my way only. I'm not crazy. A little out of my mind, perhaps. Just a little.
Now, excuse me while I wrap those new books. Nobody - myself included - are allowed to read them before they are properly wrapped. Of course, nobody but me can wrap my books because nobody can do it the way I want it done...