The inside of my bag is a mess of unwashed paint brushes, crumpled receipts, orange peels and loose change. I’m way too slummy for a see-though bag. Sometimes, I’ll find an old sock, some twigs or a half eaten granola bar in there. Once every few weeks, I’ll empty it out, wash the bag, and start again. I own several beautiful bags, but I only ever use a cloth one. Or a canvas backpack. Because I’m a slob. At least when it comes to the inside of my bag. And the way I wear my hair. Rarely brushed, always lopsided. And the way I eat when I’m hungry. Food always ends up on my face. Or in my lap. And I’m ok with all of that. In fact, I rather like it. We’re all loose with some things, and rigid with others. And I say, thank goodness for that. That’s what makes us human. The only thing worse than across-the-board bedraggled-ness is across-the-board perfectionism, and vice versa. We’re all just trying to keep our shit together. In a bag that suits us.