It's Tuesday night and the excitement is starting to build. Wednesday is garbage day, the most magical day of the week.
It's the day when the man from the disposal company drives his big truck down my street and stops and empties all of my sins into the back of his truck.
Inside my garbage can lurk:
The 2 apples that went off, because I was the only one eating them, and I cannot get through a whole 3 lb. bag before the final few get brown and wrinkled and mushy.
The green furry bread that got tossed because we don't communicate properly in our house, and two people bought bread this week.
The eyeliner that I'm pitching because you should never buy eyeliner at a dollar store. (What was I thinking?)
The insane amount of packaging that comes with almost anything you buy.
2 broken window shades that I considered using as drop cloths, so they've been sitting on the garage floor for probably 4 months. It's time to let them go.
These transgressions rest inside the garbage can. Lying in wait until tomorrow when they will disappear.
I look to my garbage man for salvation from my consumerist sins.
He doesn't seem to judge me, he just empties the container in my driveway, and for that I pay him, and thank him with a yearly Christmas bonus.
I wonder if he knows how important he is?
In the days of the pioneers they would have to bury their garbage. . . .sometimes in the yard.
That would be bad. That garbage would lurk there and beat like a telltale heart, you'd always know it was there. How could they bear it?
This modern way is so much easier on my psyche. I ask no questions, because I don't want to imagine where my garbage goes. It's gone, and whatever happens inside my refrigerator or house, I am comforted by knowing that after tomorrow, there are only 6 more days until the next garbage day. Peaceful slumber tonight, for tomorrow. . . my sins ride away in a big blue truck.