"Do you want a bag for your bag?"

Next Sunday this blog will be a month old. I guess people talk about babies in terms of weeks old, so this blog will be over four weeks old. It'll be four weeks on Thursday, but who's counting except me? Time is flying by. Spring break is less than a month away. I remember two years ago I kept counting down the weeks until break. I'd sit in my Modern Fiction class, listening to the professor yak yak yak about James Joyce, and I'd think, "Only three more weeks until spring break."

The hardest thing for me to do right now is homework. Over the weekend I did very little reading. I skimmed the rest of a book for American Indian Environmentalism, and only read ten pages in "Manhattan Transfer." I wasn't into it. The funny thing is I was reading it sometime last week, read an awesome line, and said, "Holy shit, I love this book." I haven't loved it much since then. I'm not sure what I'm into right now. I guess I'm into me. If it doesn't have anything to do with me or making me happy, I'm not interested right now. Put it away where it doesn't bother me, and hopefully it'll disappear before I have to deal with it. Since I haven't been doing much reading, I've fallen behind. Here's the key to staying on track in college: Do your assignments and go to class. It's that simple. I'm not doing that right now. Oh well. All I want to do is pass my classes and graduate.

This blog is supposed to be about my observations. I realize it's becoming a bastard version of my journal. It's easier for me to type my thoughts than write them by hand. So here's some observations.

When it snowed a couple weeks ago I noticed a lot of chicks on campus wearing snow boots. Even though the snow has melted, they're still wearing them. Why? They don't look that good. Face it, chicks: Most of the time you make yourselves look worse or incredibly unattractive when you wear shit like that. Plus, it makes you look high maintenance. Maybe I think that because my definition of attractive is different (and I'm really poor). I don't like girls who make themselves up and try to look hot, like the ones you see downtown at bars. I like plain, everyday girls. I don't like girls who are hot. I like girls who are cute. Sorry. The snow boots aren't doing it for me.

Brunettes are better looking than blondes. This is another one of my personal opinions. Brunettes have more style and grace; they're more wholesome and sexy than blondes. Plus, the darker the hair, the more mysterious. I like mystery. Blondes are just blonde. Enough said.

More everyday observations and events: Yesterday I was walking up College Street to my old apartment and noticed blotches of creamy brown (brunette) coffee on the sidewalk. It was like someone had been walking or riding their bike with a cup of coffee and didn't know it was leaking. I followed the path I always take, and the drips of coffee guided me the whole way. Where I turned, so did the droplets of coffee on the sidewalk. Everywhere the person had stopped -- at an intersection or to talk to someone -- the drops made a circle or tiny puddle before continuing on. I got a glimpse of this persons life through the coffee they dripped on the sidewalk. It was like I'd painted the bottom of their shoes and followed their footprints through town. I had to abandon the track of drips when I crossed Summit Street. I'm sure I could have followed them to their source.

The reason I was walking back to my old apartment was to drop off the new backpack I'd bought. I didn't want to take it to class, so I left it at my old place and got it on my way home. The last time I bought a new bag was the week before I started college. I bought it at Scheels. I've had it the whole time; it's been in every one of my classes. It's truly seen a lot. I wish it could talk. During that time the metal strap connections wore down and broke, so I had to use the hiking hooks to keep them together. I'm keeping it, and I'll use it when I feel like it. But for now I'm giving it a rest. It's time for a change.

The bag I bought is an actual backpack, that hangs around my shoulders and sits on my back. It's a gray and blue North Face backpack. I've always wanted one, ever since high school, and now I have one. The last time I went to school with a real backpack was probably my last day of high school. I've never cleaned out my backpack from high school, so it still has papers and folders in it.

In the store I stood at the rack of North Face bags for probably fifteen minutes, trying to figure out what I wanted, what color I wanted. It came down to blue or orange, and I finally decided on the blue. Baby blue -- like the sky -- is my favorite color, but a darker blue is still as good. I'm changing lots of things about myself, but not who or what I am. When I bought it the cashier asked me, "Do you want a bag for your bag?" I thought it was funny.

When I got home and looked at it more closely -- inspected it a little more and played with it some, like a new toy -- I thought, "How many fucking straps and snaps can you put on just a backpack?" The answer is (hold on while I count) twelve, including the one on the inside. That's counting every connection and strap individually. It doesn't bother me at all, but I think it's kind of funny. They'll all come in handy, I'm sure, but it blows my mind. The sun was at my back when I walked to work this morning, and when I saw my shadow it looked like I had little legs growing out of my sides or shoulders, and a tail. My new backpack makes me look like an exotic bug. I guess I'm one anyway.

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