Sometimes it’s hard to see beyond the trash. There are so many elements of failure in the foreclosed homes that we clean up that the human element gets lost. A trashout worker can get jaded by rooms filled with garbage, feces on the walls, and self-induced squalor.
But the sensitive trashout worker, of which we are many, can see past the veneer of a struggle lost to see how that person is like us, with desires, goals, and a drive to be better. These notes came from a rural home that contained many distressing elements. And yet, the writer conveys a sense of purpose, an intrinsic need to improve her lot.
In another room, in the same hand, was this note. It reads like a prose-style poem, and the writer clearly enjoys using words as a form of self-expression. As a pseudo garbage-writer myself, I can identify with this. Maybe, had my home been foreclosed on, the cleanup crews would have found something similar amid the rubble of my life.
There is no insurance policy for everyday life. I googled this phrase, and came across a UK-based insurance company with a decidedly non-American looking cover model. I’ll leave you with that today.