grossly sincere

I’m standing there, my eyes drooping from oversleeping, coffee on my breath, limbs limp and heavy, waiting for the caffeine to finally wash over me. The washing machine has read “06” for 5 minutes already and I’m wondering what could have gone wrong for it to deceive me like this.

I’m staring at the sheets and towels and blankets whirl around and around and I can’t help but think of you.

I’m reading your work and I’m wondering about your creative process, I’m thinking about how to talk to you about this, pondering if I should be critical or appeasing– not that it was a bad read, but because I want to show you respect for your craft and don’t want to flatter you.

But we’re talking now, aren’t we?

The cycle finishes and the machine beeps at me as if it’s annoyed by my presence. I’m reaching into this damn thing and my blankets are heavy– they’re sopping wet, actually. A frustrated what the fuck slips from my mouth as I feel the water drip down my hands. Just my luck, huh?

I tried to salvage the saturated blankets and towels by taking them out of the washer, thinking, “it certainly cannot be as bad as it seems,” and perhaps it was just the blanket that wasn’t wrung out correctly. Unfortunately, the whole damn load was victim to a lousy spin cycle. The white sheets clung to my hands and arms as I evaluated just how wet it was, and I decided that it had to go through another cycle. Maybe this time it’ll work out and be normal and not force me into yet another 45-minute wash cycle.

And that’s what I’ve been thinking a lot recently. Maybe this time it’ll work out. Maybe the laundry won’t have to endure another round of being shaken around and wrung out as it’s tumbling over itself.

–

I’m re-reading your story and looking for something to tell you I like, not because I feel the need to flatter you, but because I respect your craft.

I want to ask you questions about your creative process, or what inspired you to write what you did, if this is based in reality, who are your characters, how personal it might be to you–but it falls flat in my mind, and I push aside my thoughts about you–your work–aside.

Returning to the washer, I found that it gave in to my wishes and properly washed my laundry. The blankets were no longer weighed down with water, the sheets no longer clung desperately to my body, and the towels no longer felt heavy in my hands.

This could be a lesson in starting over. I felt some relief when I found that a second try was all that was needed for things to get my desired result–but I moved on with putting all my things in the dryer, and went about the rest of my day.

About this work…

This was kind of a brain dump about a day in April. I was tired, frustrated, and confused, as you might be able to tell.

I’ve been writing a lot of stuff like this; I guess creative non-fiction stuff, but also a kind of journal entry. This is my blog and I get to do what I want! Though I don’t know what I’m going to categorize this as…