Life is a mystery of enormous, convoluted proportions. One second I'm creeping along its jagged path and the next hurtling through it.
At least I'm moving.
But on another note, I'm hungry. What's worse, I'm unwilling to go out there and forage for food, despite seeing how there's nothing else in the fridge except stuff like mayo & ketchup. Figures. What I wouldn't give for one of these right here, as sick as I am of fast food. There's no substitute for a home-cooked meal, none. I'm easy like that.
And tell me why I detest doing laundry so much. I'd give anything to skip it, and I usually postpone it till I open that drawer and see the last clean pair of boxers. That right there is one of life's most depressing moments, ever. But it's not like I'm hand-washing the laundry, or going out to the cleaners or laundromat or anything - the washer/drier is right here at the crib, so I've no idea why I dread it so.
Speaking of which, I gotta go grab stuff from the drier before it gets all wrinkled up, which would lead to my next least favorite chore - ironing. Don't even get me started on that one.