The laundry situation was getting pretty urgent. It wasn’t an emergency of pairing-plaids-with-stripes proportions yet, but the reserves of clean underwear were beginning to run dry. Since the laundry machines were still vacationing in the dining room, the task of doing laundry evolved into an expedition into the wider world in search of laundry facilities. It wasn’t much of a search: we already knew where to go- to my sister Bean’s place. They were out of the house, and we had a spare key so we let ourselves in. A wild time was had by all. 

Two loads was probably a mistake. I mean, it’s one thing to do two back-to-back loads of laundry at home on the weekend when the waiting time can be spent on other activities. It’s another thing to do two back to back loads at eight in the evening on a week night at your sister’s house. All we could do was wait. And wait. And wait. 

The dryer takes as long as the dryer takes.

Bedtime came and went. I did my best to nap while I waited for the cycle to end, waking briefly to move a load from one machine to the other. It was a restless kind of sleep- always near enough to the surface to keep an ear out for the sound of tumbling clothes. It was nearly midnight by the time we actually got home and plunged into bed. The morning alarm came much too soon. 

So I’m dragging my tail this morning, and I don’t even have a fun or glamorous excuse. It’s not like I spent the night out on the town or was up until the wee hours burning with inspiration. No. Laundry. That’s my excuse. But it needed to be done and I’m an adult, so I needed to do it. Mornings like this make me regret growing up. 

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~ by Gwydhar Gebien on August 10, 2017.

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