For a while, I was quietly obsessed with using up my box of crap promotional ballpoints, half-forgotten biros, and miscellaneous scraps of paper. This was in preference to using the nicer stuff which, I stress, I already had. I couldn’t bring myself to just throw the other stuff out, but using it didn’t bring me any joy.
The idea, I think, was that once I got through the backlog of second-rate stationery and finally get to use the good stuff, I’d realise the full dream of the picture perfect desk, my life as a stationery enjoyer could truly begin, and my creative output would be boundless and of unimpeachable quality.
I managed to get a grip. Imagine the look on my face if I got halfway through using up the rubbish pens and then got hit by a truck or something.
