I woke this morning and used perfectly clean, fresh water to send my waste to a plant where they treat it with toxic chemicals. An abundance more was piped in and out so that I could feel clean and refreshed after slathering myself with potions whose ingredients I can hardly pronounce, but somehow make my body feel acceptable once they strip away my natural oils, flora and odours. That's just how I live.
I robed myself in comfortable clothes, which were probably made in a distant corner of the world for a fraction of what I paid. they were likely pieced together by tiny hands in a large, dirty factory with strict rules. I am also convinced that the materials used to create the threads and fabric were grown for next to nothing, save the cost of clearcutting an old growth forest and saturating the land in pesticides and chemical fertilizers. That's just how I live.
I took my medicine, which was doubtless tested on live animals who have known generations of inprisonment in laboratories, as well as empoverished humans who just needed the cash from the research to feed their children, or their addictions, or both. I don't know the secret recipe for the pills I take, I just know what they are advertised to be helpful with, and take a leap of faith that I am healthy because I eat them as directed. I am sure someone in the world of pharmaceutical corporations could answer my questions, if I could find out who they are and if they are allowed to say. It sounds like more trouble than just swallowing them like a good girl and hoping there are no side effects. That's just how I live.
I went to my kitchen and took inventory of my fridge and pantry. I said to myself, despite the fresh fruit and vegetables, the milk and cereal, the grains and noodles, the beans and soups, the baking supplies and condiments, the teas and spices, and everything else, "there is nothing to eat". As I somehow prepared a salad with unappreciated food, I did not say a word of gratitude. Not to the plants that gave their lives, not to the toiling farmers, not to the weather, not to the drivers who transported the food from...wherever... not to the shopkeepers for making it available, not to the earth for producing fossil fuels to get it all the way here, not to the culinary traditions that made it easy for me to put a salad together mindlessly, not to the fridge or it's manufacturers for keeping my food fresh for me. None. I just devoured it and felt dissatisfied because it was not what I wanted. I scraped my food scraps into the garbage bag because my residence does not support composting. I did not even save any seeds. That's just how I live.
I then checked my cell phone to see if I had any important messages. It was mostly advertisements, which I did not read, because I find it obnoxious that people want me to be interested in what they are doing, on their schedule. Not a single message from a friend who was interested in what I was up to. I wonder why. Without corcern for the radiation, or the radio waves disrupting bees and butterflies, or the plethora of privacy issues that stem from using a cell phone; I quickly sent out cries for attention to the few contacts I have who are most likely to respond. I had nothing important to say at all, as my day had just begun and I had paid zero attention to my dreams or what they had to offer me last night. The silence was too uncomfortable for me as I waited for replies; I turned music on, lest I think an original thought or be creative or self-aware. Someone, at some point, had taken great care to produce these songs, which I summarily ignored as background noise and took entirely for granted. I did not consider how it effected my mood or thoughts, consciously or unconsciously. I did not think about supporting the artists in bringing pleasure and entertainment to the world. I did not wonder how ordinary they must be underneath the success and fame, nor appreciate how cool it is that they can share their messages with millions of strangers. While these musicians touch lives daily, I sit and think "I hope someone answers me," because I am bored and lonely, despite being surrounded by a space full of potentially inspiring things to share and do. That's just how I live.
I picked up a book about Pagan environmental ethics, and felt good that I care about such things. I felt wise for agreeing with words that resonated with me. I felt empowered to be part of a culture of people who think and act on these ideas. I reflected on my day and decided that caring isn't enough. I decided that I am ready to plan to take action. I wrote about my day to remind me of all the barriers I face, or even create for myself. I contemplated the solutions. I committed to positive changes. I owned up to my hypocrisy and apathy. And I show it here, for others who might resonate with my struggles. That's just how I live.