Eaten by Wild Alsations

Fucking Laundry

As many of you know (ha! like there are many of you who read this!), I'm a huge fan of Relentless Laundry and think you are out of your mind if you don't love the Laundress as well (her latest post is going to be one of her classics in years to come). I don't know why I mentioned that other than I'm fighting, tooth and nail, against having to do laundry.

We've talked about how much I hate doing laundry since I don't have my own machines. We've talked about it time and again. Now I have to drive across the street and pay out the asshole to do my stupid laundry. And I flat out just don't want to. But I desperately need to, and so I'm mad. I've been wearing truly inappropriate thongs and lacy bras to work because I've exhausted my supply of underpants. I don't care if that is TMI, fuck you, it's my blog. I even considered buying new underpants when I was buying stuff for my cousin just to put off the inevitable. I had yesterday off from work and planned to do laundry. I didn't.

So now I'm sitting here telling myself that once I get through this chapter I'll start sorting out my clothing and maybe take a shower. I'm doing a very good job of pretending like I'm going to function like a real and proper person today when I'll most likely end up spending the day in bed with my books and maybe some alcohol.

I think that is the problem with living on my own with no interest in dating anyone right now. I'm slowly - or actually, not so slowly - turning into one of those people. Before long I'll stop being embarrassed about the state of my apartment and invite a colleague over and she'll be embarrassed and talk to other coworkers. "My god, Cat lives in a nice apartment but it is filthy and there is this weird smell." If I did bring some guy back to my place, he'd be horrified by the state of my bed and sheets. Right now I have the following on my bed: junk mail, some real mail, a letter I need to send, my iPod, a plate that has crusted food on it, a notebook, a make up pouch, a bra, a brush, some miscellaneous clothing, my copaxone travel kit, a book, a hair clip, an insurance card, and a computer. I'm not making that up; I sleep in a bed that is half bed and half counter space. I think it comes from all those years of sleeping in a single bed and now that I have a queen, I still just cling to the edge and use that extra room for my crap. There should be two stuffed cows and two boxes of stationary on the bed as well, but evidently, I pushed them off during the night. I guess I do have my limits and my need for space.

So there we are. I'm turning into a disgusting person who, if found dead, will be exposed as a filthy, sad, and pathetic human being. I should probably right that. I'm beginning to actually look forward to doing my god damn laundry. Just as soon as I finish this chapter...

Updated
So I did my fucking laundry. I bitched about not wanting to do it on Facebook and Kara swooped in to remind me of my mom's cousin/neighbor and I saw my future and sucked it up and did all of my laundry. I have mad clean clothes now. But I realized a few things as I was folding the last few things.

1. 98.9% of my clothing is absolute garbage. Clearly I do not give a shit about my appearance (awesome t-shirts exploiting MS are exceptions).
2. Target towels suck. They unravel quickly and end up just stringy.
3. When I decided a year or so ago to stop wearing color, I really stuck to my guns. Even my work out stuff is black and gray.
4. I have far too much stuff, especially considering how much of it is garbage.
5. I clearly have not gotten over my aversion to having anything around my neck as 99% of my t-shirts have their colors cut out. 

So laundry is done and so I was grown up and good. Of course, said laundry is in two baskets and one gym bag placed, with real genius, directly in the way of my front door. So I have mad clean stuff in my filthy apartment. I really am awesome.