from a backpack's perspective

I am what they call a backpack, and to be quite honest, my life is usually quite dull and uninteresting. Each day of the the week I am lugged back and forth from that "school" place. As soon as Friday afternoon comes around and I finally make it back home after a long, hard week, my owner Virginia thrusts me off of her back and casts me away as if I have done something terribly wrong. It hurts my feelings sometimes I must admit; I do not wish to be such a loathsome burden on Virginia. I try hard! I hold all of her heavy textbooks and keep all of her papers in order for her without any complaint, but what do I get in return? No gratitude whatsoever. I usually remain in the same spot until Sunday rolls around, and then, grudgingly, Virginia slowly unzips me to face her dreaded work that I have so faithfully protected for her.

My owner's room is quite comfortable and well-decorated, don't get me wrong--and sometimes I even get to rest on her bed like right now. Her school is what provides some adventure in my life though; I have a nice view in which I can observe the hustle and bustle of public school. I've become very accustomed to the floor, as I am placed upon it in each different, new classroom and even in that crowded cafeteria. It used to bother me, but now I've come to realize that a little dirt here and there won't kill me. One time though, one of Virginia's classmates decided to steal me! I was so scared, and all I wanted to be able to do was cry out! The mean thief began to take out my whole contents, and secretly flipped me until I was completely inside out! I was in despair, but of course, my owner realized I was missing and ran to my rescue. Life as a backpack is quite difficult in fact. We just don't get the respect we deserve.