Forcing yourself to do something has to be one of the hardest yet easiest things to do. Discipline is what the kids are calling it nowadays if I’m not mistaken. Oh how it pains me so - the simple act of gliding fingers amongst themselves in familiar patterns above letters - yet what joy can be rendered from the same elementary task.
I offer you this modest anecdote for clarification: If the mere course of taking out the garbage made you feel that much better about yourself wouldn’t you do it? Wouldn’t you do it twice a day? Wouldn’t you purposely engage in activities known to produce exorbitant amounts of garbage (cooking for a large number of people, unpacking boxes of bubble-wrapped flatware, starting trash fights, etc.) with the hope that you could fill that precious receptacle faster and faster making it necessary for another jubilant trip to the curb? Or better yet, start taking the trash out when it was only half way full. And that brings us back to this very sentence. Is this a half full bag of trash or a beautiful, heaping, plastic stretching so far that it's fading in color and ready to burst monstrosity?
Let’s just say that if this bag is indeed full, then the new trash bag taking its place was the last one in the box, thus leaving an empty box of trash bags and a new piece of trash. So goes the circle of whathaveyou.
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