It was another intriguing Thursday morning trash day in our little waterside town. The battle of Me vs Me started before dawn while I still lie in bed thinking those interruptive thoughts that snatch my sleep because the subject matter is soooo weighty.
Would I go hunting for junk that morning or not? That was the important question that separated me from my slumber in the dark.
"There's no room for more stuff!", Rational-Practical-Would-Love-to-Sleep-Past-5:30-Me told Maniacal-Junk-Greedy Me. No need to go hunting. Settled. I turned over and nestled my head soundly back into my pillow, happy that another daily dilemma was wiped off the "worry chart" and I could sleep on until the next worry butt in to wake me. It was simple really. I couldn't go, for I am in danger of being run out of my own home by my kids who think a safe walking path and room to breath is of some import. Case closed.
Maniacal Junk-Greedy Me is persistent though, and drives a hard bargain. "We'll just drive a few streets and look! What if there's something out there?!" I lured myself with the promise of a possible discovery. By "SOMETHING", Junk-Greedy-Me means something that would be a heart breaker to see lost forever, whether we want it, need it, have room for it - or not. It's the principal of the thing, and for all of Junk-Greedy-Me's gimme-gimme, grabby hands, that Me's attitude is rooted in the past and aggravated by the present. My love for the past longs to fight a valiant battle to beat back the present's evil desire to suck all the treasured wood and metal relics down into the ashes of the earth and make a sort of historical compost out of them. Uh, uh!
The battle lines are drawn and so are our junk warrior weapons!
Shut off the alarm, fire up the coffee, rev up the engine, and we're off.
Yes, Practical-Rational-Me is a pushover.
Plus my sleep was already ruined. Once I'm awake, I might as well get up and drive. I know I'll never fall back to sleep.
