Trashy Bed

I should start by taking out the trash.

One of my many regular childhood chores (aside from the weekend lists) was to take out the trash. This is not unusual and not difficult. I tended to procrastinate on this one chore. I didn’t like carrying the trashcan because it was awkward and smelled. I lived in the country the big trash cans were pretty far from the house so the trash had to be carried much farther than it would be in most urban or suburban homes.

One week when I was in grade school (age 7 or 8) when trash day came I procrastinated all afternoon. My mother reminded me and I said that I would do it when I finished what ever I was doing at that moment (which in all likelihood was another chore). She reminded me several more times and every time I said that I would do it in a few minutes. That night when I went to bed both of my parents came into my room, which was unusual. I pulled back the covers on my bed and found it full of stinky wet garbage. They said that this was to remind me to take out the trash. I put the trash in the trashcan and took it out side in the dark. When I came back in I didn’t want to get into my bed because the sheets smelled and had wet spots. I don’t remember if I complained about the sheets or not but I know that I slept in them and that they were wet and smelly and there were small bits of debris still on them. We took baths at night so I must have gone to school with that stuff on my skin the next day.

For 20 years after that incident I assumed that it was my fault for not doing my chores. During that time I never told anyone about it. When I eventually did tell someone about it I found it hard to say. The person I told said that it was child abuse. Years later I shared this in a group therapy session with some other women. The reaction from the other group members made me think that this might have been a more serious thing than I had let my self think.

I can’t help but wonder if my current house keeping practices are somehow related to this event. I procrastinate taking out the trash now even though it is only a few feet from the kitchen to the trashcan. I procrastinate until I have to balance things on top of the pile and things are falling on the floor. I even procrastinate about putting things in the kitchen trash. I put things on the counter until they pile up and then I realize that I just have to put them in the trashcan three feet away. I feel like a disgusting slob. I guess I am. Maybe this is just who I am. Maybe the trash in the bed had nothing to do with it.