I’m all talk
Sometimes I fill my canvas bags with seasonal vegetables and wash out empty peanut butter jars but mostly I don’t.
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Sometimes I fill my canvas bags with seasonal vegetables and wash out empty peanut butter jars but mostly I don’t.
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I only lasted two trips to the recycling center. The only thing worse than schlepping about with other people’s stinking, leaking, heavy rubbish is shlepping 1.7 miles with other people’s stinking, leaking, heavy rubbish.
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Then I had a revelation. I took a slightly less scary route through the industrial estate I lived on to get to school and there it was. A beacon of hope. A shining flare of prospect. A beam of promise. A recycling bin.
Although I complain, my recycling predicament has been worse: recycling from student accommodation that looked and felt like a prison but – I am reliably informed cost marginally less per week …
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I am realising even those who I believe to be moral and self aware beings are crap at recycling. Real strength of mind is required to keep up the tediums of recycling from the fourth floor.
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I know this lovely planet is suffering at the hands of my fellow idiot humans. I know which changes I can make to my life to allegedly have a role in slowing or preventing this suffering.
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