Some time ago, I read—out of the corner of my eye—on someone’s Facebook wall, something about Zakary taking her daughter’s kachunkers out of their boxes and putting them into a bin.
A bin! A BIN. (!)
I did not read Zakary’s post at that time. The knowledge that somewhere in Colorado someone was ripping open/flattening/recycling (burning?)(wild west) a thousand small, horrible boxes and placing, dumping—no—pouring (like basmati into a burlap sack on a sunny day!) the contents of the boxes into a bin set my bin brain on fire.
Oh boy. I went out to the Target and bought all of the bins: eleven. I crushed Inset 30 boxes. Kachunkers: BIN. I took sensors out of their giant boxes—>BIN. I took cartridges out of their less-offensive boxes: BIN. AND BIN AGAIN. Wow! A lot of cartridges.
Then I took syringes out of their plastic baggie—>bin. I took alcohol swipes out of their box—>bin? Hmm. That was anticlimactic.
Behold my bins.
Left side, from the top:
And finally, in the bottom drawer:
But wait, there’s more! On the right, from the top: