Yesterday, when my partner, my dad and I were getting rid of a bunch of my stuff, we took a couple trips to the dump. Or, the transfer station. I think the difference is that a transfer station has a focus on recycling, which it turns out is legally mandatory in New Hampshire. It turns out, I'm kind of freaked out by the amount of dropping heavy things from high distances that goes on at the transfer station. I cringed every time I dropped some big electronic thing off the small manufactured cliff from the truck to the garbage area. And a lot of the stuff, you just sort of leave lying around. I know it's their job to come and pick it up and do something with it later, but it still just feels so messy.
Anyway, one of the things we dumped was a set of lockers, about four feet wide and about six feet tall, which were laying on their side in my dad's truck. When we got to the metal dumping area, which is just a sort of landing with some spray paint that says "metal" on the walls, I got in the truck behind the lockers and pushed, while my dad pulled, and Caitlin stood off to the left.
When the lockers made it out of the truck, we tried to stand them up to tip them over onto the pile. The lockers disagreed about which way they ought to tip, and instead took a dive for the left. They really, actually almost landed on Caitlin. She ran out of the way, so the only harm was a terrible scare, but if she hadn't moved I'm pretty sure she would have had to go to the hospital.
When I wrote about the move yesterday, Caitlin was surprised I didn't tell that story. I had forgotten it happened -- it seemed like about a week's worth of stuff happened in the space of a day yesterday, and I can think of a whole bunch of other little stories that would make okay vignettes. Some of them are funny, some of them are happy, some of them are sad. Some of them would be a little incoherent, but I would probably enjoy writing them, and some of them would probably make a lot of sense, but I don't really want to go near them.
I thought a lot about dying yesterday -- like, every time I was in the truck I got Final Destination style mental images of horrible crashes mangling me beyond recognition. I wondered how well I'd be able to hold it together if I were impaled by a huge chunk of metal.