A Saga of Little Bags
I love organizers. People who know me well will probably scoff at this, for I’m regarded by some as one of the most disorganized people on earth. This is probably true, and maybe what I really mean is that I love to buy organizers. More specifically, containers. Like little boxes, glass jars, and especially little bags. Standing outside, gazing at the Container Store fills me the same kind of excitement that a heroin addict must feel gazing at an endless field of poppies. In the case of my trip I seem to be accumulating a frightening array of little bags. You can never have enough little bags, of course. A little bag to keep my electrical cords in, a little bag to store my memory cards, a little bag for the torx drivers. And of course a little bigger bag for those little bags. It seems that I have unwittingly created my own little bag version of those Russian babushka dolls.
Maybe it’s some desperate attempt to get organized, recognizing that although it’s all in vain, perhaps the act itself will somehow accomplish the intended goal. Sort of like the smoker who keeps buying nicotine patches, only to smoke even more, I suppose.
The trouble is, I have now accumulated and assembled so many little bags that I don’t know which bags contains which objects. I open the electrical cord bag, only to find that I grabbed the spare keys bag. Or worse yet, I open the bag containing the spare fuses, only to find an empty little bag. Meaning that my system of organization has somehow resulted in maddeningly disorganized mountain of little bags. I think I know what will help. An organizer, or course.
