There aren’t many constants in my life. I mean, yes, I have one of those “real jobs,” but the trials are different ever day.

Some days, I am a communication station and talk to, seemingly, everyone in my little BlackBerry address book, and other days, I feel completely cut off from the world. One day, I’m having a solo dance party in front of my air conditioner and going on a nine-mile run, and the next, I want nothing more than to eat some tater tots and watch Burn After Reading until I fall asleep.

(Yes, tragic comedies soothe me. It’s my party.)

Monday, I’m in sweats; Tuesday, a dress with ma hurr did. I’m usually a night owl, but sometimes I’m passed out before it even reaches the AM! You know, for those nights when I’m feeling *really* responsible.

You get the idea.

But what stays the same? My handbag. THAT’S RIGHT. I wear the same bag for months at a time. Months. And I feel no shame.

I’m a creature of habit, at heart. I’m not a big fan of routines, but familiarity is something I value. I know the exact contents of my bag, and it’s comforting to know everything will be in there as I begin my morning sprint.

There’s comfort in constant.

For example, today was a rough day. I don’t know what started it; Beyonce was my iPod alarm this morning, for goodness’s sake. How that got me started on the wrong foot, I have no idea. It was just all those little things that build and build until I’m tweeting about looking for a fight.

Don’t get me wrong; I’m extremely non-violent by nature (read: I’m a vegan. No joke). But I was ready to RUMBLE.

Now, I wasn’t about to ask for a hug (though I’m sure I would have had, at least, three eager hugs waiting in my love-filled office), but I did need comfort. I don’t know what subconsciously caused me to feel the need to have my bag near, but before I knew it, we were sharing my chair.

Sitting right behind me, my soft, quilted Sami gave me silent comfort. Who knows why? The contents were nothing sentimental. The bag itself is just that: a bag. But the slight weight of it against my lower back was enough to calm my nerves.

Maybe it’s because I’m used to having him around. Maybe I’m slightly obsessive. Or maybe there’s just comfort in constant.

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September 17th, 2009 by Terryl in Musings | Permalink