Trash as a Metaphor

Today, I drove into work. Yes, I know it's Monday and I usually work at home on Mondays. Over the weekend, my computer froze up and slipped into a coma. Since this was the second meltdown in 4 months, I put a DNR order in place. I tried not to freak out, knowing that I'd lost my back-up last week. I took the machine to Best Buy where the Geek Squad recovered my data. My former stalwart companion is now in pieces, its brain in a plastic ziploc bag, and its data on both a DVD and flash drive.

I've ordered a new computer that should arrive by the end of the week. In the meantime, I'm forced to work in my office. It's been a long time since I've worked in an office. A really long time. Like 10 years. It's a strange experience. There are other people around and I can't work in my pajamas all day. There aren't any windows in my office and I'm beginning to feel claustrophobic. I'm not sure I like this. Anyway, I'm working through my lecture and trying to get ready for tomorrow.

I'm also spending the week with Big City friends, so I don't have to do a daily commute. When I left this morning, I hoped that I had everything I'd need to live and work away from home for 4 days. I remembered my students' exams, I remembered my books, I remembered the oh-so-important flash drive, and I remembered to take the trash out. After making 3-4 trips up and down the stairs, I got in the car and headed out.

About 15 minutes down the road, I remembered the trash that was still in my trunk. "Crap," I thought, "How perfect is this? I have lots of trash and I can't get rid of it. I just keep hauling it around, stinking up my life." I'm not sure I've ever managed a more perfect metaphor. I also appreciated the irony of my trash riding in the trunk with my students' exams. I wondered who was winning the stench war in my trunk.

Rather than worrying about computers, being away from home, or any number of other things, I decided to worry about the trash. When I arrived at the parking deck, I noted that there were trash cans with flip lids on each floor, right next to the elevators. While others pulled into the first space they could find, I drove straight to the upper floor. I parked right next to the trash can, popped the trunk, popped the top of the trash can, and secreted my bag of trash into the trash can. Problem solved. I'm hoping that this concrete act translates into metaphor and my luck changes soon.