There’s something to be said for digging up all the crap in your soul and putting it out the curb.  Maybe the local garbage pickers might find use for it.  And there’s always someone who’d like to recycle your junk.  They can easily don your old neuroses and parade around in them like new.  Who would really know the difference?  Doesn’t everybody have one?

Call it introspection, file deleting or self-searching . . . it’s still going to yield the same sickening mess.  What’s really disturbing is realizing that you’ve been living with that rot for years and didn’t even know it.  It’s like suddenly rolling over in bed and discovering a corpse next to you.  How is it possible you didn’t recognize the smell?   It’s enough to make you question your sanity.

. . . as if we had any to begin with.   What makes matters worse is that any serious attempt to take out the trash is usually seen as a betrayal.  If a part of yourself is removed, albeit a really nasty disgusting part, you’re not easily recognized.  Furthermore, without the slime, others are forced to adjust to the new you . . . a prospect that few willingly embrace.  It also explains why earnest individuals are regarded as suspicious.   It’s a rare person who publicly announces his effort. 

So, this then is the standard?  In order for our glorious collective to survive, each member must carry his toxic load?  Who made up these rules?   We shouldn’t be forced to conform or penalized if we refuse.  Don’t we all have the unalienable right to happiness?  If your happiness depends upon the willingness of others to adhere to your expectations, perhaps you’ve missed garbage day.


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