Raising my hand, I stepped from my desk and churned my pencil; this was no Ticonderoga. It would barely let the metal barrel churn before snapping off the graphite. When it finally cooperated, the first word I wrote would knock the tip off. Again, I’d raise my hand and go back to the sharpener, hoping nobody noticed me.


1 comment so far

  1. Michelle Johnson on

    how i hate a pencil sharpener to eat my pencil. you captured this cycle quite well. have a great day.

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