rescued from the trash

by a trash can creature

I’m afraid of Star Wars.

The first one feels like

life far too often.

No, I’m not dealing with a massive intergalactic menace. I’m not facing an indomitable evil empire.

I don’t have a Death Star to destroy.

Nope.

It still feels like my life is Star Wars.

I’m hiding in the trash compactor.

Afraid of the stormtroopers, I’ve jumped into the trash compactor.

Everything stinks.

There’s something monstrous beneath the surface waiting to drag me under and the walls around me seem to be closing in.

When things get like this, it’s time to call on your handy robot to turn off the trash compactor and open the door.

Who’s your R2D2?

When everything is going wrong, who do you call first?