5-day camping trip. Rain. Mud. ALL THE LAUNDRY.
Oh, and a war wound. Because it wouldn’t be me unless I bash the fuck out of my knee/leg/foot. No worries, it doesn’t hurt much. It’s just ugly as homemade sin.
ETA: And lest someone gets the wrong idea, I had a FANTASTIC Memorial Day weekend. I’m just amused at my ability to cause damage to the chassis.
“The night is the hardest time to be alive and 4am knows all my secrets.”
-Poppy Z. Brite
What do we want?
When do we want it?
This may be the only time wherein I am grateful that I am not yet working a regular job. Because no way would I, in any sort of fashion, be productive at all.
Or even just, yanno, not drooling on myself at my desk.
The last time I looked at the clock before I started the (seemingly) four hour hypnagogic state – where I thought I was awake but honestly was asleep – it was three-something.
And in case that run on sentence doesn’t clue you in, I am way tired and loopy today. Also, I think my coffee needs an espresso shot. Didn’t I order the large?
You guys? I think I may have just had a cleaningasm. *waves hands frantically in front of face* Woo.
A little back story so that you will fully grok my excitement. My cat, Xamot, has allergies. And the allergies have been spectacularly grotesque this year. Cat snot runners. EVERYWHERE.
Anywho. One of my closest friends, upon hearing my plight, lent me his carpet cleaner. Ladies and gents, this thing cleans everything. EVERYthing? EVERYTHING. My couch no longer resembles the scene of an alien homicide. My floors are clean. I may do my tile in the kitchen, next.1
In the words of the great Mister Smith, “I have GOT to get me one of these!”
1– L, if you are reading this, no worries. I will replace all the cleaning juice that I use.