My Bag of Goodies

I am sitting in my cubicle at work this morning cleaning out my purse. There are numerous other "work-related" tasks I could be doing, but I am just not feeling it right now. I am here physically, but I have not quite checked in mentally yet. So, here I sit. Sipping my coffee and marveling at the contents of my purse.

Having refused to carry a purse for most of my adult life, I have forgotten what a catch-all a purse becomes. I love my purse. It's an amazing storage space for all of those little trinkets—junk, really—that I would normally have just thrown away. But now that I have a purse, rather than tossing the crap, I have a handy-dandy receptacle for storing all of my unnecessaries instead.

Looking through my purse, I am amazed at the sheer volume of “stuff” I have collected in recent weeks (and months). There is one of Nicholas' socks. I have no clue where we would have been that he would have given me one—and only one—of his socks for safe keeping. I also have one of Sophie's hair bows. No doubt a failed attempt at fixing her hair. I try, but she will inevitably pull out the hair bows and defiantly hand them to me.

I have a piece of paper folded up with the scores from a scintillating game of Rummy Ruanita and I played on our last date night while sitting at a coffee shop trying to figure out what to do with ourselves without children. She beat me, of course. I also have a couple of household budget worksheets I printed off of the internet and neglected to ever fill out.

I have a post-it note containing a list of restaurants I would like to try. Strangely, however, Ruanita and I always end up at the same small handful of restaurants on the rare occasion that we get a date night out.

I have a printed email from my sister Amy discussing cabin options for this summer. It was months ago that we discussed renting a cabin with the whole family this summer. That plan has since been scrapped, but I am still carrying around the email for some reason.

I have a Ziploc baggie containing two little white pills. I am not entirely sure what they are. I believe they may be Oxycontin that I was given when I hurt my foot last summer. Obviously, I am not a prescription drug abuser since they are still lingering in the lower recesses of my purse six months later.

I have the birthday card everyone in my office signed for my last birthday in October. Most people wrote nothing more personal than “Happy Birthday.” I have no earthly clue why I still have it.

I have two small boxes of crayons from Cracker Barrel. It's been quite a long while since we've been to Cracker Barrel for breakfast. But I guess crayons are never a bad thing to hold onto when one has children. One day, those six little crayons may mean the difference between a pleasant dinner out and complete and total anarchy.

I have a gorgeous little change purse my sister brought back from Morocco for me. It's empty, however, since I simply do not possess the stamina to unzip it and insert my change most of the time. Change just gets tossed in the bottom of my purse where it mingles with the cough drops, adding a delectable copper flavor and aroma to them.

I have not one, but SIX, pens in varying hues. Black, blue, and more black. Important for jotting down brilliant and inventive ideas for blog entries like this one when the inspiration strikes. I also have an industrial strength bottle of Purell. You never know when a germophobic seizure may take root. Much like people with severe allergies carry around Epi-pens, I carry Purell for those moments when I am forced to use a public restroom. Or visit the zoo. Or shake hands with someone of questionable cootie status.

Finally, and most importantly, I have a Diet Pepsi in my purse. Nectar of the gods. A necessary antidote for all of life's little aches and pains. I will choose Diet Pepsi over Oxycontin any day. As a matter of fact, I think it is time to ditch the coffee and pour me up a wonderfully fizzy tall one. Perhaps I'll wake up and actually get to work.

I'm not holding my breath though.