Where are my pencils?

"Where are all my f**king pencils?"

It's a fair question.

I have 10 of them. Mechanical pencils. Fine .7mm Staedlers. Just the right heft, just the right bounce!

I bought them with my research money. The grant administrators asked me what I need so many pencils for and and I told them "I do so many writing!"

I don't know what they are asking me about pencils for.

Everyone in Korea with a grant has a smart watch. Pencils are more clearly necessary for doing math than a screen on your wrist that plays music.

Oh! But why do you have to spend 7000 won per pencil, you can get shit pencils for 750 won each.

Of course I can, but I'm not doing shit math. I need a good pencil with a good heft and little bit of bounce, and, hey, some good strong leads that don't snap off every time I press the tip to the paper.

But they are mechanical, you only need one.

How many smart watches do I need? Pencils get lost! Get the pencils!

So I got my 10 mechanical pencils. I lived with them and loved them for years. Me as their friend and them as my pencils. I write all my math with them and they try not to break their tips very often.

And three and a half years later, I sit down at my table to do some math, and there are no Staedlers about.

"Where are all my f**king pencils!"

They aren't in the cup on my desk. They aren't in my pocket. They aren't...

I run out in the hall and look about like a woman who has lost her child.

"Where?!?" I yell, "WHEEEERRrrrrreeeee...."

It is summer, and there are not so many people at school. There are not so many people in the halls. But those that are there avert their eyes and walk quickly by. It is best to avoid the abject displays of sorrow. We are not made to deal with this.

"Where are they? My pencils..."

Pulling myself off my knees, I realise that perhaps I have over-reacted. "He he." I giggle. "That's what I would do if I couldn't find my pencils, innit" I say, in case anyone is still about to hear.

The 'innit' is an affectation I have recently picked up watching "Supacell". It looks great on me, I am told.

"Innit 'en" I say, going back into my office.

I pulled it off cool, but I still need my pencils.

Sometimes I put one in my pocket when I'm leaving my office. Point down, for safety. And sometimes I slip one into my back-pack. I check my pockets again, absently, not expecting anything to suddenly appear there. Then go to my back pack.

Sure enough, there are six pencils in my back pack!

Ha! That's where they are! How did they get there? They are there like a nest in the bottom of my back-pack. Like some pack rat has been gathering them up and squirreling them away there. And I guess I am that pack rat. I guess I just keep slipping them in there, one a day, in case I am called upon to do some math on my way home.

I am relieved. But six isn't ten. Maybe I left some at home. But six isn't ten.

"Six isn't ten!" I yell.

But the halls are still empty.