I pretty much suck at today and it’s not even 10:00 a.m. The winning streak I had so proudly defended in remembering which day to leave the trash out on the curb came to an abrupt and sudden end as I heard the familiar beep-beep-beeping of the truck carefully backing down our street. Had I not been mid-shower I would have attempted some last minute hysterics to maintain my undefeated streak of wins, but lately the fight has been drained from me. I’m thrown by the shortened work week due to the holiday and forgot that it was indeed Tuesday morning, for all intents and purposes, is Garbage Day. Every other week is recycling, which makes today the perfect storm of fuck-uppery.
What drives me crazy about the transition from recycling drop off points to county-wide curbside pick up is that the failure to account for what percentage of the average citizen’s garbage is recyclable. Should the advertising campaign that was rolled out by the state to alert us to such changes be believed, at least twice as much of what is disposed of is recyclable when compared to regular garbage. With information like that, one can, using simple math, deduce that recycling should be picked up twice as much as the regular garbage. However, in practice, what the state has decided to do is implement once a week garbage pickup and bi-weekly recycling pickup. Oh, and I learned one other thing, that one cannot simply include their extra recycling in a garbage back next to the can. The regular garbage truck will simply pick up the extra back and haul it away without recycling it, leaving your efforts to separate the trash carefully into the two bins completely moot.
I’m not angry with the garbage company, though, not really. It’s my own fault that I didn’t keep track of what day it was, and didn’t put out the garbage on time. What I’m upset about, is that this is a metaphor for exactly how I have failed to hold it together lately. Much as I try to not lose my shit, there is no outer exterior that can exist with so much inner and outer turmoil.
And while I’d rather not pinpoint the exact moment of undoing, I must say the universe has had quite interesting equal and opposite reactions to the decisions I’ve been making as of late. As I cross the desolate parking lot on my way into work, I catch the eyes of passers-by, almost wanting to call out “I’m an inferior human being. You can simply ignore me. Not worth your time.” Except that calling out to let them know would further encourage them to acknowledge me in some way, even to dismissively wave back or otherwise note the head’s up. After all, the universe has made it very clear that I suck on a very fundamental level, having failed to jump back into my expected role.
The guilt I feel is without parallel, and yet, it is in spite of it, that I am held to the conviction which produced it. I am unable to crawl back into the shell of the person I was, exoskeleton molted and the raw, untested flesh exposed. Weaknesses and frailty aside, I am compelled to push back and yet I remain silent. It is not over, the war has just begun.