Laundry Sucks

Well, it does. I do the laundry once a week, and bitch and moan each and every time. This is for several reasons, most of which can be boiled down to 1) I get almost no writing done on laundry days and 2) I freakin' hate the laundromat.

Early morning is my best writing time, from somewhere around 5 a.m. to 6:30 a.m., then make breakfast & get the spouse kicked out the door & then more writing done before lunch. Laundry days mean I write for an hour or so, then go to the evil laundromat and waste an entire morning, & come home too tired and/or irritated to be good for much else. It sounds stupid, even to me, but there it is. There's something about jockeying for driers, the constant thrum of heavy machines, bleach & detergent & good ol' b.o combined with lovely flickering fluorescent lights that make me krazee.

And here I am today, with a whopping 50 words done on the novel, bitching about laundry. But hey, I've still got an hour before I need to worry about getting dinner going, so I could stop whining and get to work. Or I could go back to my favorite procrastination game of the day. Ah, screw it. If I don't at least attempt to sit my ass in front of the keyboard I'll be even pissier the rest of the day.

Maybe if I'm really, really good, I'll go hang out at Watson Lake tomorrow.