Thursday, July 23, 2009

Slash and burn

So. We're in the process of moving.

I haven't really mentioned it because I despise moving. I have such intense dislike for the process of moving and packing and unpacking and shutting off utilities and opening new accounts and making phone calls and filling out address cards that I wish moving would get hit by a big truck.

But we are mostly moved thanks to some lovely people and their arms and boxes and vehicles and time and skill.

But in general, I loathe moving and haven't mentioned it because it's unpleasant and I can feel myself getting bored with myself whenever someone asks how the move is going.

It's about like you'd imagine. Some of our stuff is in boxes. Some of it is unpacked in the new place. Some of it is unpacked in the old place.

Cody's not cooking meals and I'm not cleaning up every single thing before falling asleep.

But it's fine and will be much better very soon.

And now, I only mention it because I've discovered something in this move:

I love throwing stuff away.

We've been recycling for a while now. So we were keeping our recyclables in our large trash can and throwing trash into a grocery sack or whatever (because we try to be responsible, we didn't have a lot of grocery sacks because we usually remember to take cloth bags. We apparently packed the cloth bags a couple weeks ago and still haven't found most of them. We now have trash bags galore.) and trotting it out the dumpster every couple of days.

We've been doing this for several months and taking the recycling to the center in the church parking lot every Saturday has become just another part of our weekend routine.


We are now chucking entire trash bags full of completely recyclable cans, bottles, boxes, papers--you name it, and I have looked at it (sometimes after carefully wrapping it in paper and hauling it clear across town), sighed in disgust, and thrown it in the nearest cardboard box or trash bag.

Forget landfills, the lifespan of plastic, and the idea of reusing unrenewable resources.

I love throwing stuff away.

Yes, I know that doesn't mean it's actually gone. But it's gone away for me. Completely out.

Pictures, t-shirts I was going to use for dust rags (no, I never was), trinkets, the collection of root beer bottles--gone.

I feel clean.

I feel renewed.

I feel like shredding every financial document we have.

I haven't felt this good since I was living with my parents and we would burn trash.

I love burning trash. Don't even get me started on the glories of burning trash into oblivion.

This post really has no point other than to tell you that sometimes I feel a little desperate and take the cleaning too far. And that it's nice to have a clean start.

And you should never move if you own over 50 books. Just don't do it.

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