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[personal profile] muckefuck
I woke up this morning feeling so much better than I had any right to expect 24 hours after a night of unsleep in the suburbs (of which more later) that I'm feeling almost apprehensive. In fact, I awoke better rested than I am most Mondays. Poor [livejournal.com profile] monshu had a fasting test this morning, something that slipped my mind until I remarked on how bizarre it was to find him up and about without the coffee pot brewing. "Rub it in, why don't you?" he retorted.

A short while later I stepped into the tub and noticed two blurry squirming shapes. No, I didn't shriek like a little girl, but I was out of there so fast that I became a blurry shape myself. There was nothing I could capture them with (besides the water cup), so I pulled out the drain cover and rinsed them down. (If you want to see how I've disappointed my farm-bred father, look no further.)

The good news is that they were nothing worse than fluffies, and that--in retrospect--the bug that I watched the cat pursue and kill just outside the bathroom door a couple weeks back must've been one, too. The bad news is, well, bloody bugs in the bathtub. I ended up shampooing with my eyes open because stinging eyes still better than inadvertent contact with a complete harmless insect. (Hear that? It's the sound of my ancestors weeping all the way back to the goddamn Germanic invasions.)

While drying myself off, I heard a thud above, doubtless [livejournal.com profile] monshu wrestling with the kitchen trashcan. I'd left hairbrush and deodorant in my bag which was in the dining room, so as I came down the hallway half clothed I called out, "Do you need any help tearing apart our house?" A second later, I spied the garbage strewn across the floor and realised my mistake. Needless to say, the Old Man was fit to be tied, so I chased him out of the house and resigned myself to walking in to work fifteen minutes late after all.

The cat sniffed at the garbage but didn't try to play with it and it wasn't raining yet when I hauled it all to the dumpster. Despite how mild it was, I decided a sport shirt alone was too little and tried to figure out what had become of my blue pullover, which I'd washed on Saturday. As I failed to excavate any memory of folding it, a dreadful suspicion began to creep over me.

Sure enough, an entire load of laundry in the washer since Saturday afternoon. Well, I'll wash it again tonight and, whatever else happens, it will make it into the drier.
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