On The Other Hand
A dumpster is liberating, except for one thing: its existence creates a sense of responsibility to constantly be putting things into it.It's quite hard to stop working when it's in the driveway. Even when I'm exhausted and can't move or lift anything else, it quietly mocks me. More, it demands action, even when my back and knee and foot hurt.
I have one more difficult morning tomorrow, and then there won't be any more room. Thank goodness. I'm looking forward to having it picked up, because I've run out of gas.
There's surprisingly little left in the house. Well, I guess it shouldn't be surprising, but I've never lived in a house so empty. It echoes.
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