I had a lot of trouble getting used to the growing amount of stuff that I have to carry around with me. It started smal enough. Cigarettes and a lighter. As long as I had those two things... and a dollar for coffee, life was good. Then I got a job. Jobs screw everythng up. When I got this job, I started to have a lot more money. So I bought a wallet. So then I had to carry smokes, a lighter, and my wallet. No problem. Eventually I had so much more money than I had before that I was able to buy a car. Cars have keys. But there was room in my pocket, so I stuck the keys in there.
Being that I had a car, I was able to drive to a better job. So I did. Right about this time people started bitching at me about how I was damn near unreachable. Because I was out driving the car. But I had a better job, which paid me more money. So I bought a cell phone. Now people could reach me. As long as I carried it around with me. So then we were up to smokes, a lighter, my wallet, my keys an my phone. It was starting to get out of hand.
I kinda started to get bored with just rinking cofee and smoking all the time, so I got into the habit of reading a book while I smoked and drank coffee. Somewhere along the line I started writing down all of the things that pissed me off. So I got a notebook to keep all of them in one place. A rage journal, if you will. At that point I was carrying around smokes, a lighter, my wallet, my keys, my cell phone, a book, my notebook, and a pen. It started to get to me, keeping track of all that stuff. Then one day, I had a stroke of genius. Bag! I'll get a bag, and carry all my stuff in the bag! So I did. Smokes, lighter, wallet, keys, phone, book, notebook, and pen. All went in the bag. Life was good.
Then my bag got stolen.
Needless to say, I was angry. I wanted a cigarette, but I couldn't have one because my smokes were in the bag. I couldn't go down to the store to get more becasue my wallet was int he bag. I couldn't go home and dig through the couch for change because my keys were in the bag. I couldn't call anybody for a lift because my phone was in the bag. So I was stuck with nothing to do because my book was in the bag. I couldn't write down how mad I was about it because my notebook was in the bag. And even if I did have the notebook, it wouldn't do me any good, cause my pen was in the bag!
A few days later, I found the guy who stole my bag. I chased him down, tackled him and said "Where the hell is my bag !?"
He said "It's in my car."
"Give it back!!!" I screamed.
"I can't." he said "My car was stolen. I'd have called the police, but your phone was in the bag."
Being that I had a car, I was able to drive to a better job. So I did. Right about this time people started bitching at me about how I was damn near unreachable. Because I was out driving the car. But I had a better job, which paid me more money. So I bought a cell phone. Now people could reach me. As long as I carried it around with me. So then we were up to smokes, a lighter, my wallet, my keys an my phone. It was starting to get out of hand.
I kinda started to get bored with just rinking cofee and smoking all the time, so I got into the habit of reading a book while I smoked and drank coffee. Somewhere along the line I started writing down all of the things that pissed me off. So I got a notebook to keep all of them in one place. A rage journal, if you will. At that point I was carrying around smokes, a lighter, my wallet, my keys, my cell phone, a book, my notebook, and a pen. It started to get to me, keeping track of all that stuff. Then one day, I had a stroke of genius. Bag! I'll get a bag, and carry all my stuff in the bag! So I did. Smokes, lighter, wallet, keys, phone, book, notebook, and pen. All went in the bag. Life was good.
Then my bag got stolen.
Needless to say, I was angry. I wanted a cigarette, but I couldn't have one because my smokes were in the bag. I couldn't go down to the store to get more becasue my wallet was int he bag. I couldn't go home and dig through the couch for change because my keys were in the bag. I couldn't call anybody for a lift because my phone was in the bag. So I was stuck with nothing to do because my book was in the bag. I couldn't write down how mad I was about it because my notebook was in the bag. And even if I did have the notebook, it wouldn't do me any good, cause my pen was in the bag!
A few days later, I found the guy who stole my bag. I chased him down, tackled him and said "Where the hell is my bag !?"
He said "It's in my car."
"Give it back!!!" I screamed.
"I can't." he said "My car was stolen. I'd have called the police, but your phone was in the bag."