Lou is in need of a vacation.
I’m the type of person who – in order to get my life in complete order – needs to first experience complete disorder. I operate on the ends of spectrums in accordance with the rules of procrastination. I think perfectionism is a disease. Like Buckeye Fever.
So here’s the thing… I have no clean running clothes. Um. OK. I have no clean clothes period. Well, I have some clean clothes. But, I don’t like those clothes. So, I’m going to continue to Fabreze the not-so-clean clothes I do like in order to avoid wearing the clean clothes that I don’t like.
Fabreze is God’s gift to lazy people. But even I know that I’m operating on borrowed time.
Which brings me to laundry night. The bane of a city apartment dweller’s existence. You live in a city and you don’t own yo’ house? There ain’t no chance you have a [free] washer and dryer in your unit.
Thus, laundry becomes infinitely more complicated: there is the management of one’s quarters; the carrying of heavy baskets through hallways and up and down stairs; the potential of getting your detergent/clothing/towels/underwear/dryer sheets/quarters/fill-in-the-blank stolen.
Dear GOD it’s a taxing, an entirely unfulfilling process. It makes me want to eat ice cream and sit on the couch in sweatpants watching television ignoring the outside world with all of its societal pressures of wearing clothes that have been recently washed.
Of course, a lot of things make me want to do that.