I have a real dilemma when it comes to conservation. On one hand, it is important to not waste. Be green. Reuse plastic items. Recycle. It is a very glorious cause, which helps all of us ritual-minded, OCD fanatics to feel good about ourselves despite all the people out there who just do not care at all.
They continue to pollute and waste. We continue to place the recyclable item in the proper plastic container.
They throw their soft drink container out the window of their car as they drive by. We take sponge baths in the shower.
They dump their giant, flat screen tvs in the alley behind their house and go buy new, bigger ones. We change the channel by turning the knob on the tv.
While we feel superior, I am a little concerned about the other hand. I think I am kind of gross.
In my Star Wars lunch pail, I have about 10 sandwich bags which I refuse to throw out. One bag for my sandwich (two slices of bread, with mustard mayo and meat.) One bag for mixed nuts. One bag for wheat thins. One bag for pretzels. One bag for chips. One bag for animal crackers. Yes. I eat a lot of carbs. One bag for grapes. One bag for carrots. One bag for lettuce. I do have some healthy items too. Is that ten yet? It is a lot of bags.
I am torn here. I want to help Mother Earth, but I also do not want to be like Uncle Elmo. What makes this behavior okay in the rational world?
I also have an electric toothbrush where I am supposed to replace the head every 3 months. Six months would be pushing it. I think it has actually been 3 years. What's my excuse? We have replacements in the closet. I clean it by hand every day. I rinse it thoroughly, but what am I hoping to achieve? Am I thinking that I will have halted the production of toothbrush heads by a month? By a week? By a day? Okay. Tonight I am replacing it. The very thought of this is making me a little queasy.
Who have I become?
I have shirts that are 15 years old that I still wear, a truck which is 16 years old. I have had the same disposable razor for 3 months. I shop at thrift stores. I horde cardboard. I shave once a week. I don't believe in anything new!
Wait! I am Uncle Elmo. How did this happen? Like a nightmare I need to wake up out of. I am Ebenezer Scrooge screaming in his bed: "I want to live! I want to live! I want to fill the trash with more trash! I want to empty my recycle bin into the regular trash! I want to let the water run in the yard all night! I want to let my kids draw on all the paper we have set aside for printing important documents. I want to use styrofoam in place of all my dishes and then burn them in the backyard afterwards!
Then! Then I will be happy! Then I will be free!
We are going on seven weeks with the 4th roommate, Brindley, and it continues to be challenging. What an obnoxious little snot she is. She is constantly taking things from the other roommates. She goes right in their rooms if the door is open and takes stuff into her room. We try to talk to her about it, but it is so awkward. The best thing I can do is quietly take it back so we don't cause a scene.
Oh, and I cannot stand her perfume. I can hardly breathe if I get too close. I try to be respectful, because everyone has their own scents that they like. This one is fairly common. I think it is called 9K9B. It is really strong and we have to keep the fans going to keep the fresh air moving.
I should not be gossiping about her like this, but apparently she does not really know English anyway. She seems to know the basics like Hello, Good Morning, and No. It is like we have someone from another country staying with us and it is really strange to pick up on her odd behaviours.
She sets her alarm really early in the morning, but she does not work or anything. She gets up and makes a lot of noise, wakes my wife and I up. We hope the other roommates are not being woken up. We try to talk to her about this, but with the language barrier, it is like we are talking to someone who looks at you and cocks her head. That's uncomfortable.
But she pays her rent and does not really have any other family around. I only wish I did not get so upset about all these incidents. I should be doing more with my life than being concerned about a roommate who does not speak English, is kind of a klepto, and does not smell very good. I have had roommates with those qualities before. What did I do then?
The other morning as I was getting ready, my young daughter said in her sweet little voice:
"You look fat."
I suppose this is better than her saying that I AM fat. Looking fat and being fat are two totally different things.
It is funny how when she said this, I took no offense to it at all (probably because I am fat.) But I guess it is hard for me to be offended by children.
- They call it like they see it.
- They do not understand what calling someone fat really means in our horribly judgmental society.
My children CANNOT know how obsessed our culture is with being skinny.
Or maybe it is more like: My children SHOULD NOT know how obsessed our culture is with being skinny, but since our children do live in the culture, they probably pick up on quite a bit.
So there is hope that our children will have fat obsession and anxiety just like us....
I was a pretty thin guy for many years. Very thin. I was not pretty and thin. As they say, I wanted to put some meat on my bones. Over the years, I have put on more and more meat. But inevitably, that meat has become gristle...
Here I am approaching middle age and I think: What do I want to get to? How do I want to look? What should my gut look like?
Simple! Perfection. Society says to be perfect.
Obviously, that is not going to work.
Why should I try to live up to impossible standards?
As I look at it, I am quite normal for a middle-aged human who sits on his butt all day at work. I am built like my grandpa. How can one argue with genetics?
Also, when getting out of the shower, I have to cinch the towel up to make sure it stays on. That of course adds 20 pounds right there. My daughter is clearly mistaken.
The other thing I have to look at is something more scientific. When looking at tribes of people in primitive settings where they do not live on processed food and have desk jobs, I take a look at the leader and the village elders. Typically, they are a bit overweight. They do not have the job of the great hunter so they are relegated to watching out over the tribe and imparting their wisdom all the time. How is that not like me?
I think it is ridiculous that we have as our standard a look which is only about the perfect age of 21 or thereabouts. And here we are going through life trying to get back to that look. Sure, it is commendable when someone can do it, but do I have to?
Wait. I do have to? Otherwise, I have to go on all sorts of heart medicine and I will be in danger of getting diabetes? And being sick all the time? And I will live longer if I cut out fat and do more exercise?
Okay, fine. Tomorrow. Tomorrow I start.
