2001-06-25 || 5:40 p.m.

|| sweet bag named margaret. ||

my bag is slowly but surely, thread by thread by rotting zipper, is falling apart. the zipper broke yesterday in the thrift town parking lot and i was afraid i would have to perform surgery to get my keys and wallet out of its abysmal belly. the material is fading fast. there is a hole in the very corner that releases coins onto the sidewalk, leaving a nice shiny trail behind me. i only hear them falling sometimes and then i turn around and see discarded nickels and dimes and have to decide whether to pick them up. i get embarrassed by picking up money. hmm? just like i get embarrassed by putting on chapstick in public, making that funny puckery face. oh and crossing the street sometimes. i get embarrassed. but. my bag. i need a new one. i have taken off the band buttons (em. this is another thing i am embarrassed about. the band button phenomenon. sometimes i feel very cheeky having all those band buttons displayed on my bag. and it's not like they're joy division and the slits (owen.ha har.). they're just goofy ones. friends' bands. and a le tigre one. but casiotone buttons happen to be the most fabulous ever invented, so those transcend buttonness and don't count. but i have always felt funny about them. and i am not dissin, you go and wear your buttons with pride. you make yourself chainmail armor out of them. i am just saying for me, personally, i feel embarrassed. or. something. having your coolness allegiances on display. maybe that is it? hem. i don't feel comfortable asserting myself like that. i don't want a member of one of those bands, say kathleen hanna, whom i am deathly secretly afraid of, walking behind me down university and grabbin me by the arm and sayin 'who do you think you are lady, wearin my name on your booty bag?' and then she gives my hair a tweak and steals down the sidewalk. i cna't handle that type of thing. i wouldn't be able to go out for days.) but. my bag. i went to the top secret thrift store in an undisclosed location on saturday to look for a new one, perhaps a dreamy turquoise blue naugahyde one with metal buckles and a nice boob-friendly over the shoulder strap. but alas. so this one, we'll call her margaret, still has to lug around two books, two journals, an address book, two bottles of prescription pills, an overweight wallet, a change purse, a water bottle, a checkbook, twenty loose pages of an unfinished story, about five dollars worth of coins, two lighters, a pack of cigarettes, a container of hair wax, a comb, three tampons, sunblock, and a couple of breath mints that fell out of their tin. and she is very very tired.

previous || next || random

guestbook || notes || archives || profile || photos || d-land