Feb 12, 2020

I Rinse Out My Jars

I rinse out my jars and sort my recycling into the appropriate bins and take my dead batteries and old electronics to the recycling depot, and I've recently started composting by digging holes in the backyard and covering the carrot peels and potato eyes and watermelon rinds and eggshells with dead grass and dry leaves. I've stopped using plastic straws and cleansers with microbeads, and I cut elastic bands and six-pack rings before I throw them out so they don't end up strangling seagulls and ancient tortoises. I reuse gift wrap ribbon. I turn the lights off when I leave a room, run the dishwasher and washing machine during off-peak hours, and don't leave the TV on if I'm not watching it. I try to be a responsible consumer and use up what I have before buying something new (except with nail polish, but I am trying).

I like the way a shotgun feels in my hand. I like the kickback, the holes in things that appear as a result of the flexing of a finger.

I save frogs and mice and birds and turtles and other living creatures that find themselves in danger due to my infringement on their territory in the newly-developed suburbs. I plant flowering bushes to help the bees. I'm trying to tame a feral cat so he won't starve or freeze to death this winter. I am morally opposed to hunting for sport.

I think you're a whining goddamn idiot and I wish you'd shut the fuck up already.

I frequently give my change and my leftovers to the homeless, I give monthly donations to children and refugees and the Red Cross, and I gave the tampons I no longer needed after my uterine ablation to the women's shelter. I buy chocolate from the school kids who knock at the door, and I'll give money to your charity if you ask, especially if the cause has some personal significance for you. I sign petitions and vote at election time.

I eat baby animals. I tear the flesh from their bones with my teeth and suck their juices from my fingers. I toss living sea creatures into pots of steaming white wine and serve them with crusty bread, smacking my lips.

I hold the door for strangers. I'm not rude to waitstaff. I'll let you go in front of me if you need to turn onto a busy street or merge due to lane closures. If it's under $5, I give the remaining balance of a gift card to the person behind me in line.

I imagine sharply turning the wheel and driving my car into a concrete barrier on the highway. Broken bones and pierced organs, raised red scars dissecting my face, staples driven into the side of my skull to keep it intact.

I take care of my cat, drive my mother to her doctor's appointments, and visit people in the hospital. I return emails and messages promptly. I try to leave comments instead of emojis. I make a concerted effort to invite people to parties and lunches and coffee dates. I would rather buoy you up than put you down.

I sometimes imagine what my life would be like if you were dead.