TOILET PAPER

The other day I did something I often do. When the roll of toilet paper ran out, I left the empty spool in the dispenser, unwrapped a new roll, and put it behind me on the top of the water tank. 
     I don't know why I do this. It's incredibly easy to put a new roll in the dispenser and it isn't as if I'm racing off to do urgent things or am too involved with deep and weighty thoughts, like solving world hunger. All I can say is that there's something very familiar, a feeling, in letting the toilet paper roll slide. Is it an aversion to completing things?  Or an actual desire to leave things undone? Or a habit of inattention that allows me to use the toilet a dozen times with that cardboard spool still empty and not notice it, not notice the extra effort it takes to reach behind me for the new roll. The aesthetics of that empty dispenser and grey spool aren't pleasing, so again, why do I let it ride?
     I can come up with many theories but knowing all about them hasn't led me to significant change. Lately I've found another way. First, I noticed what I was doing and, in taking that step back, I realized that as small a thing as this seemed to be, it wasn't insignificant. In fact, it's core, an instance of what I sometimes see in many areas of my life -- obliviousness, indifference and lack of attention, my laziness. Changing all that is overwhelming; I feel puny, as if facing a tall wave I can't possibly control.      But I can do something about the toilet paper. I've decided it's very important that I change the roll immediately. It's a small step but as I said it goes to the core. I used to imagine waking up completely changed, all my problems solved, as if I'd arrived at some perfect place, I was perfect, and had no need to struggle. Now I feel the reverberations of changing just that one small thing. It's encouraging and helps me be ready for the next small thing and the one after that. And the one after that.