I appreciate the aesthetics of vintage fountain pens — and the artistry of truly outstanding old-school nib work.

And I dig a pen that wears its history on itself. Scratches, dings and stains all drive home that the pen in hand may be older than I am, or than my parents are. I have a Parker Vacumatic that’s older than my grandparents.

Looking back across my last month of inked pens, I notice a pattern. I’ve struggled with smearing ink.

This is particularly true with faster writing: especially making and updating checklists, and meetings with students. My weeklies have grown smudgy and smeary.

For the first time in my teaching career, my class was interrupted by a question about fountain pens.

A student - we’ll call him Arush – whose fountain pen had run out of ink during his own class, knocked politely in my doorway. Apparently, Arush asked to leave his own class when his Sailor ran dry. He asked his own teacher for permission to find me for more ink.

Journaling is one of my favorite hobbies. It’s writing that I do for myself. Reflecting on my days helps me to keep a healthy context on my teaching – and to remember the bigger picture amidst the day-to-day dramas of putting 300+ people together in a building. Journaling is self-care.

And this week, journaling simply didn’t happen.