Wherein I get tangential about laundry.

The laundry room on Sundays is like a battleground. It’s for this reason that I usually do my laundry at really odd hours, like at midnight on a Tuesday or 5:00 on a Friday. I’m not confrontational. In parking lots I usually let the other guy have the spot. (Or I snag it and then avoid eye contact like a wuss.)

But today, things got dire. Washing my dirty laundry became not so much a desire as a necessity. I was OUT. I was out of clothes to wear. I wore pajamas to the laundry room, and not even my first-choice, pleasantly casual pajamas, but like the ratty, fourth-string, we’re-down-by-nine-touchdowns-and-we’re-scraping-the-bottom-of-the-barrel-here pajamas that never get any playtime. I think this analogy is getting away from me. Anyway. This occurred to me today because all the washing machines were in use, and I had to stake out a girl who was hovering around hers waiting for the cycle to finish, and then I had to pounce to keep this group of people who had just walked in away from what was rightfully mine, and we had a silent duel (at least I consider our brief eye contact a duel) and then I got it and threw all my clothes inside and walked out of there to the beat of that “Sweet Victory” song from Spongebob at the Bubble Bowl.

At least I like to think that’s how it happened.

EDIT: There’s an update on the laundry story. When I went back down there I was forced to watch as some girl dumped my laundry on the floor before the dryer had finished. I was too far away yet to do anything but watch and vaguely recognize the girl who was doing it and think to myself, “Andrea, you ASSHOLE.” Then I passive-aggressively folded my stuff while she loaded her clothes into the dryer. It is a BATTLEFIELD, people.

If you were to take a snapshot of my life that would represent everything I choose to be, this would be it.

It’s 12:41 a.m. but I still consider it Saturday night because if not then I have to accept the inevitability of SUNDAY and that all of the homework I’ve neglected for the past two days is going to rise up and bite me in the ass. So, it’s still Saturday, and I did not miss a day of my one-post-a-day thing.

Speaking of which, can you believe I’ve actually made it to the end of the March? I thought this thing would fizzle out mid-January at the latest. Instead here I am, on a Saturday night, eating peanut butter straight from the jar and listening to music with earbuds that only sort of work. I am half ready for bed, in that I’m wearing pajama pants but no pajama top. Instead I’m wearing the nice blouse and cardigan combo I wore today, because I got halfway through the pajama routine and decided, “You know what I could use right now? Some peanut butter. Straight from the jar.” And here we are, three hours later, with my half-pajamas and empty jar of peanut butter and broken earbuds. This post started out sounding like it was going to be inspiring, but everything just spiraled downward somewhere in there. Sorry about that.