Just rambling today. I was writing in my journal this morning when my pen ran out of ink. Immediately my mind veered off course from the memories I was recording to a moral dilemma that overwhelms me all too often these days.
What to do with this bit of plastic, now that it is useless to me, but will forever live on in the world, destroying our planet and remaining intact, forever to haunt my offspring and their offspring and theirs . . .?
Do I try to find a replacement ink cartridge, or throw it away as the manufacturer intended? How badly will I screw up the environment by sending it to a landfill? Along with all the pencils that are still useful, but too short for my liking. And, before anyone suggests it, I've already googled "uses for recycled pencils." How many tiny plant stakes does one need? How many picture frames can one make from used pencils? (Google that one)
For years I've been doing my due diligence and using my own bags at the grocery store. Come to find out, they too have a life cycle, and when they go to the landfill they take forever to break down. Much longer than the evil plastic bags. So, now I need to find "natural" bags out of cotton canvas, which I can put in my compost pile when their time comes. But, I'm still filled with angst over the 20 non-degradable bags that I have in my car. So, I've been filling them with items that go to ARC. I'll let ARC figure it out.
My mother used to talk about, "When I have my nervous breakdown. . . " It was never a bad thing. In her mind it would mean having a nice padded room to go to, where maybe she could take her books or her needlework and live out her days.
I'm convinced my nervous breakdown will come as a result of an odd pencil or pen, "paper or plastic," single serving yogurt or quart sized, or a boxful of VHS tapes.
The bittersweet thing is that, what I will choose to take for my nervous breakdown -- my journal, pens and pencils -- will keep me in my padded room for a very long time.