…the side effects from my Covid booster are mild.

Still struggling for positivity this week. But you know what would really suck to have on top of general malaise and disaffectedness? Total body aches and a pounding headache that keep me in bed.

Like, I almost always want to stay in bed all day, but the fact that I don’t have to is a minor victory. I’ll use this freedom to… probably do more fucking laundry or something, I guess.

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…the washing machine should, in theory, not be hard to fix.

Our washing machine fucking broke again. That lazy piece of shit.

This would be the third time in as many years that I’ve had to open it up and swap something out. And god knows how many “cannot drain” errors since it can’t seem to deal any time there’s some particularly absorbent fabric inside.

Except, this time the “cannot drain” error is legit and the drain pump actually is broken. A replacement should be here today.

And mostly I’m pissed at this because I’ve got enough shit going on that carving out 30 minutes to tinker with a machine that’s only a few years old and keeps crapping out is hard to swallow. But… at least the part in question is right up front and does not require me to totally disassemble the thing again. As far as fixes go, this one shouldn’t be too bad.

So that’s my silver lining. That’s the thing worth it for me to get out of bed today: I can keep washing my kids’ clothes with a relatively minor amount of effort to fix our stupid goddamn washing machine. Maybe the rest of the week will get better.

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…the washing machine isn’t doing that thing again.

Yeah, two laundry posts in a month. The fuck can I say? Laundry’s one of like only four things I can spend my time doing anymore. The other three being work, kids, and cleaning up after kids.

So simple pleasures go a long way. One of those pleasures being when the washing machine actually washes the clothes instead of locking up and doing that goddamn “too much water / filter error” bullshit where I have to unplug it to reboot the computer and empty the filter plug at the bottom, invariably spilling water all over the goddamn floor, and then it turns out there isn’t any fucking clog or anything, the machine’s just being a lazy piece of shit and making me wash my towels three at a time, the fucking crybaby. Oh, and heaven forbid if one of those towels happened to be wet before I put it in the machine, there’s no possible way it could handle that much liquid while filling itself up with fucking water.

My washing machine wants to take a break. I hear ya, my dude, but the kids keep spilling chocolate milk and I can’t let that shit fester in the hamper. Thanks for taking one for the team today and doing your fucking job.

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…I did all the laundry. ALL of it.

And I don’t mean “it’s sitting in a bunch of baskets on the stairs waiting to be put away,” either. I mean that every single article of clothing, every towel, every washcloth, every fiber in need of cleansing has been washed, dried, folded, and hung up or tucked away where it goddamn belongs.

Yup, even the dish towels. And the bath mats. And that pile of underwear the kids hid under the sink for some reason. I did it all.

And then I put the empty baskets in laundry jail.

Even better: I’ve got the kids’ clothes sorted. All of Lulu’s hand-me-downs that can physically be handed are now down, and all of Sunny’s snug fits have been mourned and packed up in a box to go off to GreenDrop. The school year can begin without anybody tripping over themselves to find an outfit, and I only cried a little.

I kicked the laundry’s ass and it deserved it.

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