At what point is an indoor compost drawer no longer okay?
Years ago, before the advent of quiet kitchen composters that look more like Xboxes than trash heaps, I got a worm bin. A worm bin is essentially a compost bucket filled with worms that eat your table scraps and, over time, turn them into ... compost. You're supposed to get a worm bin because you're trying to reduce landfill waste. You're supposed to get a worm bin to create nutrient rich dirt-stuff for your beautiful plants and/or terrific garden. You're supposed to get a worm bin to help create a more sustainable planet. I did it for all those reasons, but mostly I got a worm bin because I'm lazy and hate cleaning.
I'm what my dad would call "not administratively inclined," which is a businessman's way of saying I'm a mess of a human being. I used to say I hated cleaning because it was "anti-feminist," which fooled no one. I'm sure bell hooks owns a broom. But I do have real reasons. The first one is cleaning products make me nervous because of all the chemicals, and the second one is because I feel like it's a waste of valuable time. When I clean I can't help but think of everything I'm not doing. Forget that realistically what I'd be doing is probably wasting time on the computer watching kittens swimming or whatever is de rigeur for falling into a bleak time suck of cat videos. Somehow, the very act of cleaning itself thwarts me into thinking there's some higher purpose which is and remains unfulfilled because I've got to clean the gunk off the dumb stove. Lastly, and possibly most importantly, I'm very absent minded -- I enter the kitchen looking for an apple, and leave with all the cabinet doors wide open and something cooking in the microwave I may or may not claim later, and whatever it is, it'll be awhile before I clean it up. I feel bad for anyone who's ever lived with me (so does my dad -- you'll be on his side in a sec).