I have recycler guilt. I check everything for recyclability (huh?). I wash out the containers so my recycling bin doesn’t get stinky. As we know, I hate “stinky”. Unless it’s pleasantly stinky (gasoline, magic markers), then I love it in a lightheaded-I-don’t-care-about-my-braincells-they’ll-grow-back kind of way. Also, clean wet dog is kind of nice and some other things, but I don’t want to scare you and that’s beside the point.
So anyway, I don’t feel guilty enough for this. Let’s see, can we weigh the value of making a dramatic (and valuable) point with the fact that you probably smell like the liquid that leaks out of the bottom of a trash dumpster, for 2 weeks? Two weeks of stink! Unbearable.
On the flip side, I had to move some stuff around in my garage yesterday so I could get my new garage door installed and I’m a little peeved about the fact that I have been storing some old crap in my garage simply because it’s difficult to dispose of. Namely, one computer monitor (that Goodwill won’t take….I know! I could give you a list of things they don’t take) and an unused box spring that was rendered redundant. Plus some furniture and electronics (anyone want a 27 inch TV? A broken Tivo box?). I can’t bring myself to take this stuff to the dump, but I am POed every time I pull into my garage and try to get out with an armful of shopping bags and minimal lateral clearance.
I see those people that actually, like, do stuff in their garage. You know, stuff with screw drivers and table saws. Yeah, that’s not me. Lately, it’s been a drop-it-and-go kind of a situation. But I guess it could be worse. I could be carrying around last weeks leftovers in a bag around my waist. Gross.