Very rarely is it the highlight of the week - (thank goodness) - but it's a day I want to try to remember.
If I forget, the trash cans get fuller than full.
Which means the tops won't close. Which means they won't lock shut.
Which is like flipping the switch on the Golden Arches for all the raccoons, skunks, neighborhood dogs, and coyotes that visit the 'hood during the wee hours.
Which means I'm out before work, cursing nature and raking strewn debris into disgusting piles.
Piles that will be re-deposited into fuller-than-full trash cans.
Causing non-locking lids.
Opening the Golden Arches.
Raking disgusting debris into piles.
Repeat until Garbage Day.
Oh, that Blessed Day!
When lids will lock.
And garbage will stay put until magically whisked away by a big green truck, never to be smelt, dealt, or raked up again.
Huh.
Yeah.
That's right.
He does the same thing with all the garbage in my soul.
That rotten stuff I make by my disobedience.
Reeking of pride and selfishness.
Boy.
Imagine if I had to wait a week.
Or longer.
Thank God every day is Garbage Day.