One of the advantages of my current (albeit unchosen) lifestyle, is that it affords me a generous amount of time to philosophise. Thoughts that, to me at least, seem great and of world-wide significance, flood into my very, well into the stewing tea-pot that i like to call ‘my mind’. Occasionally I’ve really a great deal too much time on my hands and i end up pouring out cup after cup of my writing into a blog post very much like this one and sharing them with you fine people. I know you live for these moments and it is my blessing to you to bore share them with you. So indulge me now if you will as we engage in a little intellectual tea-bagging.
There have been a small number of occasions in my life, when i have been in the fortunate position of requiring a new waste-paper basket. That’s right, do not adjust your sets, your heard me correctly. I am talking about the process of purchasing a shiny new waste-paper basket.
To me this has always been a moment of great significance because i, have thought through the imminent philosophical conundrum and am genuinely excited by it. Orgasms have been detected, such is the rush of adrenalin at the process which is about to get underway.
You’re clambering for me to explain and with such sweetness and offers of intimate lickings, that i shall of course try to satisfy your immediate needs.
The process about which i speak begins as soon as you have selected your nice new shiny waste-paper basket from the myriad of available styles. Or at least it should have done if you’ve entered a perfectly proper stationery and office supplies emporium and not some seedy back-street or common place “Pound” shop. I myself don’t hold with such places, there’s something remarkably dirty about handing over a crisp clean fifty pound note sterling and receiving a kilo of grubby pound coins in change. It gives one a feeling of great relief when one can finally get rid of them by handing them out to the poor or indeed anyone from Tooting.
So you’ve selected your waste-paper basket of choice and are now at the cash register ready to engage in what i like to call the “transactional” stage of the process. The helpful, pretty and intelligent shop assistant (probably from Putney or Hampstead) takes your basket, momentarily admiring your taste and selects a bag within which to place it, so as to afford you an easy means of carrying it home. You complete your financial obligations and leave the store, the proud owner of a shiny new waste-paper basket. The Yin (阴) has been cast.
Bustling through the busy streets, you have not a care in the world as you gaily swing the bag at your side, whistling to yourself a merry tune all the way home.
Entering your abode, throwing aside your keys and coat you rush to the room into which you plan to install your shiny new waste-paper basket. You pull it from its carrier bag and set it down, proudly, in its place, by your desk or in the corner, there waiting to receive its first consignment of rubbish.
But wait. What’s this? What is this that you still have in your other hand? For there you find yourself, still holding the now empty carrier bag. The bag into which the waster-paper basket was placed. The bag which has served its purpose well and is no longer required. It is rubbish. It must be disposed of. And then it dawns on you. Right there, in front of you, is a nice new shiny waste-paper basket. The bag into which the basket went must now itself be cast into the very same basket. The Yang (阳) has been cast too.
And you know, life’s often like that too. We carry the basket, protect it, convey it only to find that when our journey’s complete, the basket must spend the rest of its days, filling up with all of our daily rubbish.