This brilliant bedtime decision yields me seven hours of nearly uninterrupted sleep (I only get up three times). It also invigorates me to start my mental engine in the morning, and right now my morning is going well. Very well. Quite well.
Until it's time to leave for work.
As far as I know, it really is Tuesday, so naturally I am expecting the trash men to come by. My modus operandi is to stealthily add my bag to an existing barrel that is out on the street, so I take my one lightweight bag of trash to the corner of the driveway, expecting the usual barrels at the beautiful houses. You know, my Tuesday routine, right?
Wrong. No barrels of trash are in sight. Not a single trash barrel is visible on my street or behind my street and around the other street. I double-check the time. I am only leaving about eight minutes early, but still. The neighbors always put out their barrels. Always.
Did I sleep trough Tuesday? I went to bed early enough; my alarm clock works sporadically; I seem to be awake now. Where is everyone's trash?
I leave the trash bag on the curb, hoping no animals get into it. In my car on the way to work, I see that most people one street further over have their trash cans out, but no one else does. Not my street, not the street behind me, and not the streets fronting the churches.
I wonder the entire way to work: How could I have slept through a day? Where did Tuesday go? How did I miss Trash Day? Is there a holiday this week? Did people receive a call from the town about a schedule change? Is it really Tuesday, or am I completely losing it? Has my insomnia caused me to crash and sleep for twenty-four hours?
When I get home, my questions are answered: My trash is gone, and everyone else's empty barrels are rolling around in the street. Guess it really is Tuesday. Thank goodness, because I was starting to feel like my brain went out with the trash, too.
