I hate having to do laundry at the laundromat. I know that I (which makes me wonder about other people) put some pretty dirty, nasty shit in there. I mean literally, my dogs sometimes have accidents that I clean up the best I can but I still need to run it through the wash. It's gross, I know, but what am I supposed to do? Throw it away? Wash it by hand? Fuck that. Our landlord said we couldn't get a washer & dryer for the apt. because he claims the plumbing can't handle it. Whatever. It's really because hot water & electric comes included with the rent so he's just cheap.
One of the first things I'll save up to get once I have my own place, is a wicked nice washer & dryer. It's so convenient to be able to simply wash stuff as soon as it gets dirty. That way you always have all your clothes to wear and you don't have to waste so much time sitting at a laundromat waiting for stuff to spin & fluff. And I hate how sometimes I get the feeling that some people come here with the hope that they may meet someone. Not to say that I wouldn't necessarily be open to the right person. But I've never really been good interacting with people in general. That's why I like dope so much. It kind of fuzzes the edges of my anxiety and I can actually talk to people without feeling sweaty and nauseous. And since I can't smoke, drink, or boot up here, talking to others is kind of out. Of course I smoked before I left but that was a while ago and I could definitely stand another jib. Well, I could and would have done all of the above in a laundromat at one time. I always kick myself for not bringing something with me. But when I leave I'm wicked stoned and I think, Aw, I'll be good, But I really wish I had at least brought the blunt roach from earlier. I just get so paranoid. Probably because I have no license and a warrant in the state I live in. But I just can't stay cooped up in the house all day. Especially with the gloomy, gray light and the pounding rain. And of course, Mikey is home and even though he'll eventually be sleeping because, thank God, he has to work tonight. I wish I had a secret boyfriend I could invite over and have stay until the wee hours and then have him sneak off before Mike gets home. I'm sure some folks think I'm a total bitch for writing that. Whatever. He's made his own bed and now he can lay in it alone.
If I had stayed home we would have just bitched at each other until I wanted to pull my hair out. I'm sure things are getting worse between us because I'm just done. I used to try to care, try to think it would work itself out because I really wanted it to. I know I've never been as in love with Mike as I could have been. I mean, I've been more in love before in my life and I'm pretty sure he has too. I just feel like, although I am thirty, that's pretty young to resign myself to a life of unfulfillment. It would just be a stupid waste of living. And why else are we here if not to make the most of it. That's one thing that I don't understand about people who don't ever try drugs their whole life. Aren't they curious, don't they wonder what all the rave is about? I'm glad for all I've done if only so that I can know I did, know what it was all about and not regret that I didn't at least try.
Well, that's it for the ranting and griping about nothing of consequence. I'm sure the world will be sad but I must go fold all the clothes now. Even the boxers, jeans, and piles of t-shirts which are not mine. Because, of course, I am the woman and that's my job. Right? People love to believe things have changed and women are treated equally. That's a crock. We get to work as hard, at the same jobs, get paid less and still go home to take care of the kids and do all the chores. I'm beginning to think the best way to finish life would be to live alone and be the mistress to several wealthy men who can pay my bills and satisfy my sexual needs and be off with themselves to let their sucker ass wives do their laundry. Any takers? Wealthy hotties, where are you?