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I need a new set of pens. I adore my Pilot rollerball pens. in five colors (or four since someone absconded from the Interfaith Center with my black one!), with their delightful liquid ink that permeates the epidermus quite nicely, leaving a nearly indelible, tatoo-like impression. It turns out, however, that using them to emboss one's personal design on one's skin during New Testament or Political Theory classes is not conducive to the extension of pen-life. Somehow, someone intended them to write on paper, and so as they have traveled hundreds of feet across both paper and skin (mine and others'), my beloved pens have begun to lose their longevity. I went to inscribe a book with my name so that I could lend it to someone else, and discovered that my blue pen, though clearly tinkling full of ink, has lost its writing capability. Alas and alack, woe is me.

I painted today. Most of the parts of my body which, when moved excessively, cause pain, do. You can go ahead and follow those clauses again, or this one: I hurt. Badly. and though I scrubbed myself all over with pumice and a brush, I am beflecked like one jaudiced, or else like I have really terrible dandruff of the palms. But the eaves on half of the house my parents will inhabit are primed. And I am, theoretically, $80 richer. I'm not totally sure it was worth it. But I'm going again tomorrow, and probably Friday, and then I think I will give up in hopes of finding a real job. This will give me a long weekend to remove my attractive speckles, sooth my interesting, construction worker type sunburn, and paint my toenails with allowance for sufficient hardening time before my shoe vendress interview.

Because remember: no one likes an unattractive foot. Especially on someone selling one's shoes.

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