Dear Old Bag,
Its not you, its me. This is not a desertion, its not that I don’t love you anymore. Please don’t be offended.
My life has changed, thats all. Instead of needing to carry around books and supplies and the occasional bottle of wine, I need to carry tools, and paint, and props. So many props.
Do not be hurt, Old Bag. I have not replaced you. New Bag is for a different purpose. Thats all.
Remember the good times, and know that you are passing into a new, calmer phase of your existence.
Remember when I bought you at a bike store in Georgetown because I had decided that bike messengers were cool.
Remember me sticking dozens of pins and buttons in you in high school, and then sheepishly taking them all out again in college.
Remember carrying books and exams, and finally my thesi,s through freezing winters in Chicago. Remember the slush that got kicked up from the back tire of my bike, turning your underside black.
Remember being filled with clothing on innumerable trips, and remember being used as a pillow when I was camping. Remember the floors of countless subway cars, scene shops, theaters and dive bars in New York. Remember that time I had to bring you with me when I went to the Met and I checked you because It was a black tie event.
We have travelled together to Europe and the Middle East, across the country many times.
You’re still strong, Old Bag. You’re still useful. You will be my paint kit and my tool kit. This is a promotion, really, to a Specialized Role.
I will always love you, Old Bag. Don’t worry about that.