The Bane of My Existence
lastic, I love it. I hate it. Plastic houses my laptop; it makes up my plumbing; it keeps my sandwiches fresh and it's the foundation of my music collection. How would we exist without rubbermaid. What would the world be with out ceran wrap. Plastic seems necessary and insidious and it doesn't go anywhere, ever, literally.
Plastic is waste free living's biggest challenge. I'm not talking about shopping bags. I'm years past those. Besides they've officially become public enemy number one last year. Supermarket chains dumped disposables for poly cloth sacks, and tap water for bureaucrats sentiments turfed bottled water from government buildings. I'm talking the plastic that wraps, coats and covers almost everything you buy. From purchasing a roll of tape to a bag of oats, plastic, try as I might to omit from my life, seems to be unavoidable.
Our oceans are plastic soup was the resounding sound bite from Garbage Island, the VBS video that took us on a trip to the Pacific Gyre to show us more or less plastic concentrate. The floating plastic mass the size of Texas now defines the Pacific Gyre's ecosystem.
"It's a plastic fantastic world," said the captain after explaining the temptation of red plastic to hungry fish. He then started a list that is in reality unending of things wrapped in plastic. My mind reels to my own cupboards. Tortilla chips, tofu, pasta, cookies - my convenience food breakdowns were potentially a sea turtle's last supper. Try as I might to eliminate excess, there are very few items that you actually can purchase that are not wrapped, tagged or embedded in plastic.
My old recycling depot, bless their souls, used to take soft plastic, the technical term for plastic bags and wrappers. The one in my new neighborhood is not interested. So as I hunt for a forwarding address or alternative use, I've started a small collection. For now I clean all wrappers and after stringing them above my sink to insure they are thoroughly dry. I store them in one large clear plastic bag, which after 8 months is half full.
The whole process makes me think of those scary reality shows about collectors. The shows where some awe-struck reporter exposes pack rat crazies by bursting into their over-stuffed suburban nests with a film crew in tow. One woman never threw away clothes, another kept all her wrappers too, but unwashed so they were technically garbage. One man even kept all his feces in buckets. These people, I note, didn't believe in waste either.
This has resulted in my adopting a certain nonchalance in my zero waste confessions. It always somehow in my mind edges on defending my own mental health.
"Hey Clarity thanks for the dinner invitation, what should I bring"
"No garbage" I say.
"huh"
"I'm zero waste" I mutter moving on to the next topic, and treating the whole post waste life style like it's not really worth mentioning "normal."
One girlfriend wide-eyed said, " No garbage, it's like your shit don't stink."
I took it as a compliment.
A year and a half later life with out a garbage-can does feel normal, but it's not unchanged and not without it's challenges, soft plastic my current one. A green destiny for all things still escapes me. Like most commitments though, the compromises have shifted my attitude. Glass, paper, plastic, I spend a lot more time thinking about these things, noticing, cleaning and sorting them, not just for the recycling bin but in my mind too. Garbage has actually ceased to exist. Everything really has become material out of place.
