dumpster diving.
yes, literally.
it all started when i was little. my mom & i were living in portland, she’d just severely injured her back, & we were moving. we needed boxes.
and those portland dumpsters had all the boxes we needed. so there i went…dumpster diving at the tender age of 6.
my skills have continued to develop. and despite a short break during the peak of my hormonal-i’m-too-cool-for-my-shorts teenaged years, i’m still pretty good at it.
so good at it, in fact, that during my run on monday afternoon i eagle-eye spotted a neighbors garbage can teeming with magazines. and i really happen to love magazines—just not when i have to buy them. i’ll take ‘em free from the airplane, leftover from the hospital, and yes, even old from my neighbors garbage.
i told jon what i was going to do:
he wasn’t very happy about it. mostly because he thinks i’m kind of weird anyways (doesn’t everybody?). and mostly because my parents live in a nice neighborhood—trash digging isn’t exactly kosher.
{and by the way, that is exactly how our conversations go: type one sentence –> disconnected –> type another sentence –> disconnected –> type to myself –> i am frozen on jon’s screen –> disconnected –> hang up.}
well. i did go. korryn & i went on a stealth mission. we even turned our car lights off. turns out, the garbage can belonged to her friend. and her friend’s mom was looking out the window the whole time. sweet.
but i got what i wanted.
…i suppose i could say the same thing about dumpster diving as they did about smoking back in the day…
it’s only natural.
