What's in the Bag?

It takes us longer than it should to leave the house every morning. By "us," I mean Jude and me. Anyone who has ever tried to leave the house with a toddler knows what a process it is. Jude is at the independent stage where he likes to put on his own hat and coat, meaning that if I ever have the audacity to try to help, he will grab the coat and say "I want to do it!" That is great, in general, but not so much when we are trying to rush out the door. Besides the coat and hat, Jude will pick out toys to take to daycare. Never mind the fact that daycare is, in fact, one giant toy store and that there are more toys on the shelves there than any child would ever have a chance to play with in a lifetime. Still, every morning Jude packs his own backpack (and a backpack made for a toddler is the smallest, cutest little accesssory). This morning, he stuffed the usual cars and dinosaurs, and also stuffed in a teddy bear that he hasn't even touched in the last year and a half. "Do you really need all that stuff?" I actually said to him as we loaded ourselves into the car. What a hypocrite I am. For every day, I drag along a black bag with me, loaded full of stuff that I cannot bear to leave the house without. Let's take a look inside that bag, shall we?
I bring my own lunch to work (today, leftover chicken and pasta). I also bring bottled water and cans of Sierra Mist, which I keep in the fridge in my office. I have a CD player at my desk, so every day I bring 5 CDs with me (5 seems to be the magic number of music I can conceivably cram into my work day). Today, those CDs were: the soundtrack to Almost Famous (which, by the way is one of my all-time favorite movies. I would have to call it a feel-good movie since every time I see it, I literally feel good); a Harry Chapin CD (The Essential Harry Chapin, though the name is a misnomer, as it does have some good songs, but doesn't have Sequel or Tangled Up Puppet, so it is not the essential Chapin); Cake's Comfort Eagle (just one of those rare CDs where I love every song; smart and strange pop music); Harvey Danger (just plain fun music to listen to) and A Chorus Line (so sue me; I love show tunes).
Dig a bit deeper into the bag and you'll find not one, but two writing notebooks. That's right; I have to carry around two separate notebooks in case one will not adequately contain the genius of the thoughts that occur to me through the course of the day. One is very large and crammed full of weird, random notes and the other is tiny, small enough to fit into my coat pocket if I were so inclined to throw it in there.
Then, the next layer down is always the book I am currently reading. Right now, that opus is An Orgy of George (which isn't nearly the book you'd think from the name, but rather is a collection of books written by George Carlin, who is cranky and cynical and -- I think -- very funny. A very light, quick read, which is perfect for lunchtimes).
Then, digging through that layer, I find my healthcare essentials: a bottle of multivitamins and dental floss. Also in this layer are random greeting cards (in case I run into someone on the street who is having a birthday or needs a pick-me-up) and my postage needs (stamps, envelopes, etc. just in case I need to mail something during the times I am not at home or at my desk).
The next-to-last layer is the most recent issue of Entertainment Weekly. When will I get a chance to read it, what with working and making notes in my notebook and spending lunches reading my book? Who knows? All I know is that I can't seem to leave the house without it.
Then, the bottom layer of the bag is the most recent Writer's Market. I guess the assumption there is that if I ever manage to complete something I have written, perhaps I would want to try to sell it. I am not even in the finishing stages of writing anything, let alone the marketing of it, but I carry it with me wherever I go nonetheless. I also keep a pack of gum down at the bottom of the bag. Overall, this is a heavy bag, but I drag it to and from work daily. I think I have some sort of illness, but I can't seem to part with anything in the bag.
So, I am in no position to chastise anyone for caring along his stuff. I'd like to think that we all have stuff that we carry with us; my stuff just happens to expand to fit into a black gym bag.