There is a huge bag of bottles on my porch right now that’s waiting to be recycled. It’s enormous. I haven’t had the time to drop them off anywhere, and there unfortunately isn’t any recycling pickup at my home.
It makes for a great conversation piece.
Guests used to come by and see a tiny cloth bag hanging from the knob of the kitchen drawer, and they’d realize right away it was a collection of recycling. They’d drop their bottles and cans in there, too. No problem.
Then I hit a busy spell and wasn’t able to take the bottles anywhere, so my collection grew. Family and friends would walk by the kitchen, and I’d see them do a double-take at the overflowing group of recyclable materials before they’d ask, “Um… what’s that?”
Before too long, the bag got so large it was blocking several cabinets.
Finally, when I couldn’t open or close my dishwasher, the bag had to be moved out to the porch. Now it’s like a monster growing larger and larger. Maybe soon it will devour my home, and I’ll become part of the pre-recycled mess myself – a predictable end to the person who foolishly bred the beast. I wonder what they’ll turn me into. Paper? New shoes? A tire?
The other day, someone asked me why I don’t just take the bag to the trash. It’s massive. It’s in the way. It’s an eye-sore. It’s “just garbage,” anyway.
Okay. I’ll admit. I’ve been slacking way too much. The thing needs to go, like immediately. But I won’t just dump it in the dumpster, especially not now.
Now that I’ve managed to accumulate an impressive amount of recycling, tossing it in the garbage would feel pointless. Why did I live with those bottles and cans in my kitchen for so long if I wasn’t going to do the right thing with them?
So I’ll finally take them away this weekend, when I steal a moment to myself. It’s either that or be swallowed by the bag-o-bottles beast and processed into a monster truck tire.
That’s my excitement for the day. What’s yours?