My “I’m-destroying-the-planet” guilt has led me to try to live a week without trash. Check out why I’m refusing to throw things away.

When I first decided to go a week without garbage, I thought I’d be prepared. I had dreams of purchasing a container for my on-the-go sandwiches, loading up on unwrapped groceries at the Des Moines Farmer’s Market, and discovering a reusable alternative for Q-Tips.

That was wishful thinking.

This week started in a frenzy, and before I had time to consider my options I was making my daily turkey sandwich and stuffing it in a Ziploc bag before scurrying to class Monday morning. I worked on homework and vegged out with my boyfriend on Sunday. Running around town in search for a sandwich box was on my “Not Right Now, Maybe Later” list, unfortunately. We had just bought groceries the day before, so trash wasn’t a major concern at that point.

Except, okay: I was really craving some greasy, suspiciously cheap fast food Sunday morning. Yes, I might’ve been hung over. Yes, I know fast food is awful for my body, the environment, and society in general. But fast food seemed seductive because it has the magical powers to make me feel less like death after a night of raging. Alas, I didn’t give in.

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