Dear Bag Of Stuff,
It's been a while since move out day and you’re still sitting on my floor. Kind of blocking my doorway, maybe blocking me from my best life. Okay that was harsh. You’ve certainly stuck with me so I’ve got to give you that. I had a feeling when I was packing you up in my dorm room that I wouldn't be unpacking you any time soon. And I was right. I’m a genius.
Should I just bring you back to school and shove all the stuff into my desk drawers in August? I honestly can’t even remember what’s in you. I used my last surge of brain power to do a mediocre job on my finals so packing smart was so far out of question it would’ve been easier to do a spell that made you pack yourself. Ha! That would be funny — Oh wait, my mom just came over and told me to get off my computer and do something about you Bag Of Stuff.
So I guess ignoring your presence on my bedroom floor is out of the question. I mean, wasn’t it always? You’re a huge yellow duffel bag full of just … stuff? Papers, pencils, decorations and by the lumpy shape of your side I’m guessing my desk lamp too. I could just shove you under my bed so my mom thinks your contents have been neatly put away in my room except I think you have my sunglasses in you and not having those gave me a stress dream about my eyelids falling off.
Y’know you’re really not helping Bag Of Stuff. I wish you were a Stackable Box Of Stuff or at the very least a Roller-Suitcase Of Stuff; but no! You’re a limp-sided duffel bag that I can’t zip closed anymore because I rifled through you looking for my Zyrtec. You should’ve been more upfront with me about how you didn’t have my Zyrtec.
Maybe I’m the problem, Bag. Maybe I should know what to do with your stuff because really it's my stuff. I think my mom is wrong when she says that I should ‘throw away anything I can’t find a place for’ because I did find a place for it: in a duffel bag on the floor of my room! Even though its June already and I haven’t made a single effort to do anything about you. You’re a part of my life and that’s my fault. I carelessly hurled you into your spot on my floor and it seems that that’s where you’re bound to stay.
Guess it's just you and me now Bag Of Stuff. Maybe you represent a greater emotional and psychological flaw within myself and are bringing to light my underlying feelings about my college experience, the passage of time, the uncontrollable nature of life and the inherent disappointment of material possession. Or maybe you just prove how lazy I am. We may never know.
The truth is, you scare me Baggy — can I call you Baggy? No? Okay fine. You scare me Bag Of Stuff. What will I do with you? I don’t have time to organize your contents! I have absolutely nothing to do and I planned on it being that way! It’s 11 a.m. on a Tuesday in the summer after my first year. I should be asleep or at the very least watching all the TV I made my parents record for me while I was at school! I shouldn’t be dragged down by the responsibility of my own belongings and poor planning! That just isn’t fair!
This was supposed to be the summer where I said was going to read a bunch of books and then not read them. Not the summer where I say I’m going to put all my stuff away and then not do that! I guess It could be worse, Bag. I could’ve just graduated and be starting my real life with you.
Well, it's nearly noon so I think it's about time I took a nap. I’m guessing I’ll see you when I wake up Bag Of Stuff, I’m guessing I’ll see you every time I wake up. Maybe this time I’ll dream an answer to the enigma that is your existence.
Thanks for nothing,
Bag Packer Klein