March, 2004:
got to admit it's getting better

I frequently work late into the night. I've usually already washed the dinner dishes (unless we were fearful that our hot water would run out before everybody would finish showering) but it's only late at night that I'll take out the garbage, and at the same time take the dog for a walk before putting him out for the night. It was as I prepared myself to perform that very regular chore one night of this month that a highly out of the ordinary event took place.

As I took the garbage from the sink I noticed that Tzippi had taken the garbage pail from under the sink and placed it on the floor in front of the sink - a clear sign that I was supposed to throw it out as well.

Earlier that day Tzippi had done a great deal of cleaning, and inside the pail I noticed an electric massager which we've had for almost fifteen years. I had no idea if it still worked. What was clear was that it hadn't been used in about ten. It ran on 120V electricity, meaning that we'd need a transformer for it, and though we've got lots of those all around the house, only the original power pack was attached to it. Clearly, Tzippi intended for me to throw these out.

She is, of course, well aware of my reticence toward throwing things out. It's a good guess that the reason she placed the massager in the trash was because she guessed that had she asked me, I would have said no. Yet she didn't hide it - she left it quite visible.

But that wasn't the out of the ordinary event. What was out of the ordinary was the fact that, knowing full well that I was about to throw something out, I still took the approximately 50 meter trek to the trash, and actually performed the deed.

It was a strange feeling. There, I'd done it. I'd hardly hesitated. I simply went to the trash and threw it out. It was only later, in the shower, that second thoughts started to consume me: Had it really been that simple? Didn't I want to at least photograph what I'd thrown out?

The next morning, before driving off to work, I surreptitiously crept up to the trash bin. Finding what I'd thrown out was easy, and didn't entail getting dirty. At work I photographed the massager, and then (yes, even then) with only a bit of trepidation, put it in the trash. I'd proven that I really am capable of throwing something out ... even if I have to tell about it in order to actually do the deed.


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