I try to fish out
the bills and the occasional personal letter on a daily basis, but the rest
piles up until it’s a foot high before I actually look at it. That’s about once
a week, if I can force myself to get around to it.
Processing all this
paper requires the dining room table to spread out on and make piles of stuff
to keep—seed and plant catalogs to inform my landscaping business; endless
reports on the status of Medicare claims and where we stand each month with our
pharmaceutical coverage; paperwork from our retirement accounts; newsletters
from my favorite causes to read when I have a moment; things I need to look
into, like scheduling the next furnace servicing.
Into the
recycling bag go the no-brainers: the questionnaire full of loaded questions
from my lackluster state senator; the glossy presentations on high-end home
furnishings we can’t afford; yet another brochure on warning signs that the
underground gas pipeline in our neighborhood may have sprung a leak; the cheery
booklet touting local purveyors whose wares and services we don’t need; and the
endless money-off coupons for greasy, salt-laden fast food we had better not
eat.
This whole
process fills me with anxiety. I think of all the trees that have been cut
down, the fuel expended, the carbon spewed into the atmosphere to create and
transport all this stuff to my door, just to be recycled using up even more
energy. Thing is, I've tried my darndest to stem the tide. I’ve opted out of
most catalogs. I’ve asked Lands End and Travelsmith to send me just one catalog
per season. I've pared down the magazines I subscribe to. I've gone to e-bills
and e-statements whenever possible.
Yet a week later,
there’s another foot-high stack of mail to sort through. And last week’s piles
are still on the dining table!
It never ends.
No comments:
Post a Comment