Up until earlier this week, I had a pot of moldy chili on my stove. Lately, days tend to get lumped together. I didn’t intend to leave the chili pot on the stove. I certainly didn’t mean to ignore the pot long enough for its contents to crust over, but that is exactly what I did.

In truth, I forgot about it. The piss-ant in me wants to call that impressive. That I could actually forget about the huge, orange, covered cast iron pot bigger than my head sitting in plain sight on my stove. Though, it’s only funny because it’s true. I stopped seeing that pot because I didn’t want to deal with what was inside.

Ignoring it was so much easier than dealing with it. Until it wasn’t.

My first thought, upon accepting the pot’s lingering existence, was: toss it out.

One easy trip to the curb on trash day. Done and gone.

Though, with the entire planet currently so sick and diseased, I then thought: adding another thing to the landfill due to nothing more than my complete lack of motivation and commitment is too selfish…even for me.

The Earth has enough going wrong. She doesn’t need my moldy chili pot fueling her sustained dumpster fire.

So, despite my weak stomach and sensitive gag reflex, I took care of the pot. Restored it to full, clean use.

Now, I’m reminded to go about the business of cleaning out the rest of my pots…including those that aren’t nearly as tangible or practical.

Currently, my metaphorical kitchen is stacked with moldy chili pots and staying focused on one at a time still feels pretty damn daunting.

Scrub-a-dub-dub.