Planet Comfort

I hear the big hydraulic hum of the trash truck and I race out to retrieve my bin. Each week there's the risk that my bin will get mixed in with the four other identical brown bins belonging to the multifamily house next door. When that happens my bin winds up living there for a while, and I have to use one of theirs. Why am I relieved to have my trash bin back? Why must I hunt down and use my favorite coffee mug every morning? Why do I cling to these little things? It is comforting to restore order. It gives me the momentary illusion that all is well on this spinning planet.