Moonstruck

Full moons fuck with my head, man. Usually I get lost following routes I've traveled hundreds of times before. My internal compass spins wildly and I cannot get my bearings no matter how hard I try. Later, when asked, I cannot explain how I got into the mess nor how I got out. Yesterday, instead, I was emotionally lost, and more significantly, I lost my pen. Now, I don't know if every writer does this, but I can only write longhand using a very specific kind of pen. A $40 Cross Century, with a clip, no less. My first was given to me by my Uncle when I graduated from high school. I still have it, but it doesn't have a clip, so it's not practical for everyday use. The second was given to me in honor of my 1-year anniversary at BBFM. I lost that one doing the CityDog wine story when I left it on the back of the car and drove away. I bought one to replace it. I lost that one at Diane Mapes' book signing party. I bought one in Spokane, while on my press junket there, to replace that one. That's the one that I now can't find. My husband had a hard time understanding why I was so freaked out today that I couldn't find the pen. It's superstition. A bad omen. I haven't been writing well lately. In fact, I haven't been able to write much at all. In my mind, the losing of the pens is directly related. It is symbolic of my struggle. Sailors understand superstition. Warriors, too. Is there a superstition that you fall prey to emotionally, even though your intellect rejects it?

I'm leaving tomorrow for a big trip to do a Seattle Metropolitan story. I can't go without my pen. Seeing my distress, my husby took me to Staples to buy a new 10 karat gold plated Cross Century pen. Please, universe, help me to hang on to this pen.