Putting out the garbage

I like garbage day.

I like getting the garbage out of the house and to the curb.

I like getting the recycling off the back porch.

I like getting the compost out of the tins and freezer and ready for pick-up.

I like cashing in the bottles. Even though it is a ridiculously small amount of money, I like getting those coins put into my hands after sorting and cashing in the wine and pop containers.

I like returning all the stupid plastic grocery bags to the store.

When we are camping I also like the feeling of getting the tanks empty. Getting rid of the shit, so to speak. I always offer to do it. My husband does not understand why I like to do this, but he is glad I do.

I also like doing laundry, and the feeling of folding it and getting it all put away and seeing the empty laundry basket.
(putting it away, in the case of my husband's clothes, is piling it on top of his dresser).

I like (okay, LOVE) doing dishes.

Clearly there is a metaphor here.

For a person who suffers from depression and anxiety cleaning up and sorting out stuff is helpful.

It gives me a sense of control. And accomplishment.

It is like wiping the slate clean.

A new beginning.

Fuck waiting for January 1, which only comes once a year.

Garbage day is every week.

And wiping the slate clean fifty-two times a year makes a lot more sense.