Bag of Holding
We’re definitely experiencing some schizophrenic weather here.
Last weekend was super gorgeous, with blooming trees and song birds frolicking.
Last night was so cold that I woke up shivering.
With the oscillating temperature comes my dilemma of to carry or not to carry a bag.
I only need three items on me: phone, wallet, keys. Anything else is deadweight.
In the winter, the pockets of my purple coat serve as my bags of holding.
However, under warmer weather, I need to supplement.
Why don’t they make girl pants with bigger pockets?!
My trusty messenger of four years, a demure Fossil canvas, was found today with a gaping hole.
Cause of demise? Old age.
RIP dear friend.
It’s bag hunting time.
Some bags fluff their color and shape. Others bare their metal tooth and chains.
However, I’ll be on the prowl for the elusive wonder.
I’ll rummage through bins, peer over shelves, stalk online as well as off. It’ll lead me to mysterious corner boutiques and deep into the internet jungles. The hunt could last for months and months. Eventually, in a moment of weakness, I’ll resort to black magic and revive my messenger. Zombified and gruesome, it will moan a constant reminder that its time had already past.
I’ll get desperate, and do anything to rid myself the dangling rags.
I’ll binge, preying on bag within sight of my cross-hairs. The casualties will be many.
The future does not look pretty.
Or maybe my elusive wonder will come to me.