Garbage

A few weeks ago, Winnie took all the garbage out, and that's all I know about that. Then, today, the garbage was full again, so Winnie showed me where it goes.

A pit, out back. You bring some matches and find a good poking stick and then you burn it. First of all... it's kind of awk to burn your garbage with somebody. There is no need for the details to get detailed, here, but let's just say that feminine hygiene products do not burn very quickly. Also, all my wrappers from Clif bars and Crystal Light didn't burn at all, so they're just hanging out with the banana peals and tin cans that have accumulated over the years.

My hair and clothes smell like melted plastic and my eyes still sting a little. However, if I am to bring only a singular lesson home with me, it will be related to reducing the amount of things I throw out. I'd like to think I'm pretty good about garbage. I even sometimes take care to recycle post-it notes, with an emphasis on sometimes. Once you put garbage in the dumpster, or on the curb for the truck, you don't really think about it again, you know? You know about landfills and how plastic bottles don't disintegrate for a whatever-illion years, but actually dealing with it makes you realise how dumb garbage is. Like all that extra packaging that comes on everything- if you had to melt that in you back yard, you'd start thinking more about how wasteful it is. I mean, what else are you going to think about as you poke it with a burning stick? Anyway, what I'm saying is that I may or may not, upon my return to Canada, become somebody who has a composter in her kitchen, and writes angry letters to companies who use excessive packaging. For now, I'm just going to make sure that next time I put some flammable tinder in with the rest of my garbage.