As per my custom, I collect all the trash in the house, tie up the trash bag(s), and then place it outside my front door. I do this so that the next time I go out, I can walk the trash to the trash bin. Well, last night, I put two bags of trash outside and told myself I would walk it to the bin in the morning. I did not end up going outside until around 10:30 a.m. Much to my chagrin and embarrassment, an animal had grabbed one of the trash bags and ripped it to shreds. The kitchen trash was strewn all over the lawn and in my driveway. I already feel I have the worst lawn in the neighborhood. (My ex never cared about it, and would never allow me to cut it [yes, he actually said he did not want me cutting the lawn].) I have cut it now a few times, but because of the lack of preventative care, the grass is generously sprinkled with crab grass and weeds.
I felt like, okay, here is a now a divorced single mother, with a horrible lawn, a fence that I can't afford to clean the graffiti off of, and now trash. My neighbors must hate me. So I frantically grabbed two trash bags and picked up everything off the grass. Sprayed down the drive way. Looking miserable I am sure.
As I was standing there, feeling the eyes of my unseen neighbors and home bodies, I felt the irony of my situation. What is my life but a lawn strewn with trash. Crab grass and weeds choking out the beauty and substance. This sentiment is not fair to the wonderful people I have in my life, but that is what was going through my head.