How I get sad with my stapler

2 Apr

Today I walked around in a sort of mirage of tiredness. Every envelope felt a thousand pounds, every phone call like a conversation with the devil, every step a thousand miles.

And because I’m so tired, I am liable to make everything around me seem tired too–and a little bit sad. I mean, in this mood I can look at my stapler and think it’s the saddest little stapler that ever did live–how it must wish to be in some household that loves stapling more, that doesn’t mostly use it to stand on top of the pile of papers that I don’t know what on earth what to do with. It must be hard sitting right on top of that paper, because for a stapler I bet looking at two pieces of paper loosely piled would be like you or me looking at a big juicy apple when we’re a little late on dinner.

How horrible! And I’m just tired enough to think that this little stapler might be a bit happier in the freezer where there aren’t any other loose sheets of paper wafting idly by to tempt it. Yeah yeah, not exactly the stapler’s natural habitat, and I would just get irritated at it when I had to get to the peas or something.

Ok. So I just stapled a piece of paper 10 times in the shape of a star. That should keep the little bugger happy. Don’t even start with me with the stuff about how it doesn’t really count, how it was a pity-staple, that I didn’t really mean it. You think that in this new millennium a stapler holds the same rank in the desk ecosystem that it used to? That’s rather pushy, if I might say so myself. You are a traditionalist–you probably have horrible blue-inky hands from dittoing today’s blog.

My other guilty secret is that I always wanted (don’t worry my little stapler can’t see this, he’s over there next to the pencil box) a big executive stapler. You know the kind that can join two magazines together, is gleaming silver, and has a big flat handle on top so I can punch it? OOOOH I would staple all the livelong day if I had a little number like that one. I know, I have the sensible black one like my schoolteacher used. It’s nice…I guess. Very Little Engine that Could.

But that other stapler–the executive kind says DAMMIT I’M A STAPLER! YOU NEED TO BUY A SEPARATE DESK JUST FOR ME!

Ok, I think I’m going to go to bed.  I wonder what I’ll dream about?

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