I'm exhausted and caffeinated and my neck is hurting like a motherfucker. Thus, it is nearly impossible for me to put words together, but in an effort to be conscientous about the updating, I provide you with a look into what's inside my bag, and thus an idea of what's inside my head.
First, a description of my bag -- big enough to hold an entire life, but not too big to be unclassified as a purse. Hot pink in color, corderoy material, with a few smudges making the material look lived in. When I carry it -- which is pretty much all the time -- it hangs like a messenger bag, resting against my ass, a solid reminder of all the things I want and need to do.
And within it, you'll find:
honest-to-god Gucci sunglasses, found in a cafe by Das Roomie and bestowed upon me because they didn't fit her head
Alan Moore's Writing for Comics
glasses case (too small to fit the Gucci sunglasses)
cigarette lighter with sunflower on it (despite the fact that I don't smoke)
three hair clips
ticket stub for Anchorman
lipsticks (2, pink and fuschia)
Flash disc holding copies of po-mo rom-com, Girl Scout comic book script, and last month's Bookslut column
flyer for college friend's rock show
this week's paycheck
paystub from last week's paycheck
Dark red knit square with heart pattern
ancient, decrepit notebook of story ideas, opening sentences, research notes, and funny doodles