Blogging Sucks, Laundry Sucks
My most pressing concern is sitting three feet away from me and I have about twenty minutes to make a crucial decision: let my clothes wrinkle or fold them.
It would obviously be in my best interest to get off my ass and fold the damn laundry. I don’t have an iron, so if my clothes wrinkle I’ll attempt to straighten them later by heating them with my blow dryer and fixing the edges with my hair straightener. It’s so much more work.
But clever as hell.
Maybe one day I’ll buy an iron.
I should just fold the laundry.
But it’s my day off, I’m in a mood, and I already cleaned my kitchen and changed a compromised password. That’s a lot of responsibility for a moody day off.
Plus, I’m supposed to be writing a real blog instead of a blog about being a bad adult. I should be detailing the importance of Elliot Stabler’s return to SVU or how much I hate the zoo. These are real issues that need to be discussed. That was my original plan.
And if I don’t blog, according to the marketing experts of the internet novel world, I won’t continue to sell books because no one will ever see that I can write words.
Blogging sucks and I still hate blogging. These are my words that I wrote.
Buy my book.
Does this really count as blogging?
The laundry is wrinkling. I’m actively watching it wrinkle.
THE DECISIONS!
I just flailed myself down on the couch. I live alone. No one is here to witness my meltdown, but it was adorable, pathetic, and important.
Maybe I’ll just throw these bad boys back into the dryer.
Pro-tip for nurses: Figs scrubs don’t wrinkle.
