purse contents, a collections essay

I have always carried a big purse, ever since I turned twelve and found it useful to carry one at all. I prefer a big purse for many reasons. The first is that it makes a statement in and of itself. My current red leather handbag is much more impressive at its larger dimensions than any clutch I could carry. Also, large bags are convenient. I’d hate to haul a backpack with me everywhere I go just to have access to a book. I’d rather be able to slip a novel into my purse and run. I’m always prepared with any number of useful little items. Someone once told me that I have everything but the kitchen sink. For a while, in response to that, I toted around a miniature kitchen sink too. The contents of my purse say a lot about who I am. Mostly, I am a person who cannot leave anything behind.

In my purse in a small, black leather notebook. It was a gift from my sister to encourage my sketching. However, I never use it to draw, but to scribble down my thoughts and ideas I have for my stories. The pages are filled with plot outlines, character sketches and thematic devices. I have this book with me always, so that the moment inspiration strikes I can record it for future use. It’s a collection of at least three writing projects. This is not a journal: it doesn’t document my life or my impressions of the world around me. Rather, it is my creation, the place in which I fashion my own world. Half the notes wouldn’t mean anything to anyone else, unless they saw perhaps the outlines of a literary critical analysis for a book they’ve not read. These are my dreams, my goals for what I want to accomplish with my life, and I carry them with me wherever I go.

Another item in my purse is my cell phone. I could write an entire essay on the dynamic relationship I have with this conglomeration of plastic and metal. I don’t like technology, and I hate anything new on principle. I divide inanimate objects into two categories: warm and cold. Technology is cold. Credit cards are cold; cash is warm. Computers are cold; note pads are warm. Cell phones are cold, impersonal, flashy objects that bother me. I have a Razor phone now, but before Christmas I was content for three years with the cheapest model that came free with my plan. The gift of the Razor was generous on the part of my sister, but it took me these last two months to decide that I like the phone. I grow accustomed to cold things. They must suffer some bumps and bruises and be a little outdated before I can love them, like a Velveteen Rabbit. I’ve now dropped my phone twice, and I am used to the fact that the text messages are different then on my old phone; not to mention I am constantly a few seconds away from all of my friends. Friends, you see, are warm.

My purse is filled with a random assortment of odds and ends. I never want to be stuck in a situation and think, if only I had thought to bring such-a-thing with me this morning. So I carry it all. I am MacGyver and an Eagle Scout all in one. For that matter, I think MacGyver was an eagle scout. At any rate, I am prepared. I have a pocket knife and band-aids, lip balm, tissues, pain killers, pens and pieces of paper. I have my keys with a large key chain so I never misplace them. Prescription sunglasses take up a great deal of room on the off-chance that I’ll be somewhere sunny with a distant view. I bought them for backpacking, and I rarely remove them from their red case. I carry things for other people: gum (do you need a piece), lotion though I hate the feel of it on my own hands, and a deck of cards in case we are bored between classes or before a movie. I have pulled each one of these items from my purse at some time for a very immediate use. Like I said, I’m prepared.