I dragged myself out of bed this morning to go get some breakfast. Reach into the fridge and try to pour myself a glass of milk, only to find that the milk I bought the day before yesterday has gone Lumpy Space Princess on me.
"Oh my glob, you guys."
"Ah well, I'll have some toast" I think. "FUCK YOU" says my toaster and commits electrical seppuku on my kitchen counter.
To top things off, I thought I'd do some laundry today, which of course turned into an unmitigated disaster.
This has seriously been my life strategy during the last weeks of my thesis project.
I haven't done laundry in forever - thank you school for eating up all my time - so I had quite a bit of it (along with some of Hemingway's stuff). The laundry room's pretty calm, except for one little Indian woman in a sari - we'll get back to her in a second. Anywho, first of all, the washers don't work properly. It's fine until it was down to one minute - suddenly we're back to ten and my laundry's soaked. So I, in the interest of not being a bitch and letting other people wait for me, remove my clothes from the washer (still wet) figuring I'll let them dry for as long as possible and then line-dry them at home. The second my clothes are out of the washer, the little sari woman loads a load into my machine. "Hm," I think, "she must've booked the time after mine." But then I notice she's using like eight of the thirteen machines. It's like she's washing for a family of thousands.
Then I notice that she's taken the machines I'd booked to use. "Excuse me, are you done with those soon? I've booked them for 2.30" I say, and she smiles and nods and then does absolutely nothing. I try to dry my clothes in the dryer that I'd booked, so once again I try to talk to her: "Sorry, are these clothes yours? I've booked the dryer, so I need to use it." and once again I get a confused smile and stared at. How very convenient that she doesn't know neither English nor Swedish at a time like this when lots of other people are beginning to come to the laundry room to find their laundry times hijacked. So I moved all of her (or was it? We'll never know) laundry into the bag on top of the dryer and called it a day. Laundry bitch.
And yes, I know I'm being unfair. She's probably someone's wife who had to tag along for the ride when they came to Sweden for work or studies, and it must be hard being in a place where you can't speak any of the languages spoken, but at the same time it makes me feel extremely provoked and annoyed.
Except the cranky old lady is a cranky young lady.
So because of it, I needed to spend like twice as much time in laundry room than I expected, on top of which the dryers weren't working properly, so I had to carry a back-breaking load of wet laundry home to hang it in our living room to dry. Just what I wanted to do on my day off. Luckily Pony was home for a lunch break before hitting the gym, and she made sure I got some of G's rhubarb pie when I greeted her (who'd had trouble with the dryers too the other day) with "I'm moving your things from the drying rack because... because I'm angry!"
I'm totally staying in tonight, playing Bioshock, listening to remixes of old songs and eating chocolate. I deserve it.
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