Another trip to the dump
I visit the dump, nowadays known as the recycling centre, about once a year. I would feel guilty if I threw what I knew should go to the recycling centre in the communal bins. So, I store recyclable items between visits to the dump.
There was the redundant part of the lock from the door, the no longer working thermostat, and the electronic pest repeller, and then there were items that had been sitting around for years. An old chair that the former wife had accepted from a retiring colleague, a faulty printer, and a Wii sports belonging to my daughter.
I don’t like taking responsibility for disposing of items that belong to others, but after years, it looks like if I don't, they will go either in a move or after I have left the planet. The trigger for the visit was a broken suitcase that arrived home from Istanbul. There is little space in the flat (US: apartment), and I couldn't bear to think that it would be taking up space.
I had a little more mental/emotional space this weekend, which always helps me do jobs I am not keen to do. Yet I still felt anxiety taking the items to the car and then to the dump. It was quiet just after 8 am, and within minutes everything had gone to the right container.
I felt so relieved that I thanked one of the workers for providing this service. He shook my hand, which made me wonder how often he is thanked.
I also discovered I am not the only one having feelings about going to the dump as seen by these two articles below.
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