Last night I came home to the stench of toffee nut syrup. A garbage bag I intended to take out three days earlier had burst at the bottom leaking the entire contents of the syrup bottle across the kitchen floor. It had been a strange day of emotional whiplash thus far and I thought maybe taking care of the looming mess on my floor would be a good start on the mess in my head.
My friend Travis had just called and told me that he didn't feel like hanging out because he was "tired". I silently raged at him for bailing out, when secretly I didn't want to hang out either. I said, "Fine, whatever,"and hung up.
With new bag in hand, I stood there contemplating how to recapture the refuse. I started by lifting the bag from the top while simultaneously positioning the new bag underneath, all the while avoiding the puddle of sugar. The old bag ripped and splashed down in the syrup. I screamed,"God just fucking help me! Why are you letting this happen to me?" Infuriated at the mess that was threatening my sanctity, I had another go and surprisingly I managed the the pile into the new bag. Washing the syrups off my hands, I prayed aloud,"Help me, help me help me..." My phone rang. Travis.
"You can come over if you want," he said.
"I'll be there in twenty." Begrudgingly.
I carried the mess down to the dumpster, still fuming at my God's silence, and started down the alley toward Travis' apartment. Two blocks down I spotted a man in the shadows, and began to pray for protection. As I drew near, I saw what this guy was up to.
In one hand was a piece of cardboard cradling unidentifiable food stuff, and the other hand was was industriously digging for sustenance in the dumpster. When our eyes met we exchanged shame and hunger.
I walked past him and ducked into an entryway and cried.