10:01 a.m. I have a love/hate relationship to backpacks. Love the way they force those who are wearing them to stand up straight. Pulls back the shoulders. Redistributes the weight. Hate the way they just blew into the world without checking with me first.

When you're very young, all fads must pass by you and be approved before they can continue on into the mainstream. You know in your bones that you are ruling the world. If a snippet of music floats by, you know it: you know it from the very first notes. You've approved the playlist. You wake up in the morning and you know you know -- everything.

Then one morning you're in a big hurry and things don't seem exactly right and you begin to realize that you've been moved aside, moved out of the loop, shunted to the wrong side of the planet. One of the first visible signs of age is when you suddenly see or hear something cute and interesting and it's everywhere you look -- and nobody told you about it. Nobody asked you first. You didn't give your permission, and they went ahead and did it anyway.

That's how you come to hate the most innocuous things. That's how I came to hate platform shoes and disco, Led Zeppelin and huge weirdo sneakers, and of course, backpacks. Where did all this stuff come from? Last I looked, I was in charge of pony tails and loafers, Sam Cooke was crooning mellifluously, and the world was very well off, thank you very much.

It's always instructive to look closely at what you profess to "hate" because therein is the secret to your future happiness. It's true. Think about it -- what you "hate" is really what you want, what you wish you had more of. I will give you a simple example. Have you ever noticed that when you suddenly find yourself infirm, say with a broken leg, that you become overly fascinated with those who are walking and running along just fine?

If you have bad skin, you obsess on photos of people with the perfect smooth expanse of cheek and forehead. The more you need or want it, the more you hate the lack of it. If you "hate" pushy people, it's probably because you wish you were a little more aggressive yourself. If you hate quiet people, it's might be because you wish you had the right to fall back and just keep you yourself. Sloppy people: ditto. Why do I have to pick everything up all the time?

You say so much about yourself when you say "I hate." And, it's always so specific. So, I really don't hate backpacks, you understand, I sort of wish I had one to wear. Or better than that, I wish I'd been there when people were first trying them on for size: should they be army-drab-green or neon-nylon-blue? What should I put in it? Should I sling it over one shoulder, so cool and casual? And then how do you get it off and how do you avoid bumping people with it?

I wasn't consulted. I am still carrying all my stuff in those oversized open bags you hang from your shoulder -- the kind they give away free at conventions and so I have a hundred of them -- and I like them very much, since I once thought they were so much cooler than old-lady purses or pokkabooks.

I had the opportunity to get a backpack last night. A neighbor was getting rid of a whole slew of them and they were all very reasonably priced. However, I decided to pass them up. I don't know -- I could have picked up a really nice magenta one full of straps and secret partitions and hidden flaps for a mere pittance. But no. I walked away. I just don't hate them enough anymore.

Finish your walk. Come back tomorrow.