Ode to my backpack.

You know how people are attached to their old shoes?

Well, I'm attached to my old backpack.  It goes everywhere with me.  I finally unloaded the crap in my wallet to the backpack, and now just carry a bill or two and my driver's license and a credit card in a thin sleeve in my pocket.

I have an old notebook in my old backpack, in which I keep my business information, as well as lots and lots of scribbled notes.  I have my little tranquilizer pills in case I need them.  (Which is almost never anymore, but I still like having them there.)  I carry bottles of lemonade and ham sandwiches wherever I go --  I'm like Howard Hughes, I can drink and eat the same stuff day after day.

I've got pens and pencils and batteries and a slot for my phone.  When needs be, I can carry my new laptop computer.  On hikes, I sit on my backpack if nothing else is around. 

I love my old backpack -- my security blanket.

The poor dear thing is falling apart from my loving.

After going through a couple of cheap backpacks, I finally bought a good one.  A "Coleman" brand, and it's held up really well.  But it's starting to get holes in the corner.

I'm tempted to patch them.  Keep my old backpack.  Or just not put anything in there small enough to fall out. 

I don't want to give it up.