Yesterday, I showered midday and then realized that it was trash day and if I wanted to be productive and get junk out of the garage, I should do so. But that would get me dirty. I don’t mind getting dirty, but that would mean I’d have to shower again. That’s not so bad, but it’s a series of steps: find new clothes to put on, undress, take the bathrobe and towel into the shower room, get shampoo on your hair, then wash you body under the shower while allowing your hair to rinse, then re-sudsing your hair because your mother always told you to wash it twice, getting out of the shower, toweling up, putting on some clothes, drying your limp, thinning hair and put on more clothes.
Actually, all those steps aren’t so bad; what’s unpleasant is anytime I get in the shower I remember being bored with baths when I was little and my parents making me stay in one until I got wrinkly fingers. Sometimes I still feel the urge to cry out, “I’m wrinkled.”
The extra trash did not get loaded up and it is still there. Now I could go out and retrieve my trash cans from the curb and start putting the aforementioned dirty junk in them, or I could not. I don’t have the just showered excuse. I feel I am being pushed into a moral corner here. It’s amazing how long one can sit and ponder the virtues of morality.