02.17.06

It's cold in the Pacific Northwest today. And it's sunny. Soon there'll be an awfully thin fellow riding a pale horse thither and yon...

I'm attempting to break out of my depression. It suckity-suck-suck-sucks. *phwoosh* Sucks. I've got a simmering pot of curry on the cooker. I've added extra spicy goodness because it's cold and windy out. And who can stay in Poopyville when spicy yummyness is in the mix, eh?

Oh, and it is horrible windy. I saw a refrigerator box go sailing across the park this morning...with the refrigerator still in it. I saw the Wicked Witch of the West, too. Honest.

I'm doing laundry as well. Figure that sharing living space with clothing that's fast approaching self-awareness is probably a bad idea. I'd probably lose in a fight. Some of my clothing is wicked tough. But seriously, living in a mess is doing nothing to make me feel good about myself.

The bad thing about the laundry is that it's downstairs, along a wicked wind tunnel formed by the neighbours' fences on one side and the building on the other. The laundry room door is around the corner and at the top of a hill. The wind is fandango'ing about like a teenager on their first Red Bull and vodka drunk.

Every 40 minutes, I gather the next load, the detergent, and the dryer sheets. Throw a kilo of dead weight (i.e. quarters) into my pants' pocket, put on my sweater, waistcoat, muffler, gloves, and clogs. Get my keys, balance everything on my hip, and tack down to the laundry--leaving a trail of eensy-weensy g-strings along the way.

This may improve my popularity.

Or not.

Speaking of which, it's time for the changing of the guard.

Go. Be fabulous.

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