Monday, December 05, 2005

Crabby Monday

Didn’t sleep much last night. I’m convinced that I have that weirdy leg thing.


Of course, I may also have this.


Needless to say, I’m easily marketable.

Anyway, maybe it’s the holidays though I love them, so I’d think not. Maybe it’s the constant bickering that has become my life as of recent days. Maybe it’s that I’m listening to Helen Reddy or that my sweet doggie has an ear infection that I should have prevented by cleaning his sweet little ears. Maybe it’s that I needed a day for myself and I came home to hear that Ubs called for me all day and missed me desperately. Or maybe it’s that the damn brow sock tainted my bleached white load.

Dude, it’s the brown sock. I am that fucking brown sock. Try as I do; sort, select right temp, add bleach and detergent, place clothes within, leave to soak (I know, impressive…folks that soak impress me), return (displays vigilance – not leaving to soak and deteriorate for days), start the cycle, return to place in the dryer (all of this over the course of one, single day) and find a freakin’ tainted load of laundry.

Not good enough
Not considerate enough
Not organized enough. Look at me.
Look
At
Me
Nothing has changed
I simply remain
Who I am
Who I’ve been
A brown sock
Fuck off

9 Comments:

Blogger Aerenchyma said...

Has anyone ever noticed that I end every bit of poetry I write with "Fuck off"?

That realization made me a little happy.

8:18 AM  
Blogger Duf said...

Aerenchyma - somehow you're coming across a bit cranky in this post. Just an observation (um...that's meant to make you smile).

We spent most of Sunday in the basement cleaning. I found some marker markings on a table and went to clean them with a bottle I marked "409" only to realize that my loving wife had replaced it with bleach. Bickering ensued.

Could it be some kind of universal holiday funk?

10:37 AM  
Blogger mister williams said...

Dude, this is a racist analogy, isn't it?

No, really, you should be happy about being the brown sock affecting everything else while being true to yourself. But you can't be all mad because the white clothes just wish to remain white. What's that all about? Can't we all just get along?

11:37 AM  
Blogger Aerenchyma said...

Duf, I would totally put bleach in the 409 bottle. Makes total sense. --Makes me feel better that mister williams and I am not alone.

mister williams, I will not address the first comment as you're a dork. I regards to the white clothes wishing to stay white, it is my contention that it is their responsibility to not place themselves in the position to be tainted by my lovely brown-sockedness.

7:41 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

I think Mondays just suck, and I do what I can to get through them - treat myself to coffee and ginger biscotti, take a walk ....

I'm really impressed about the attempt to keep the White so White with Bleach. More of an effort than I would make.

And Mr. Williams is a big dork, but I miss you both anyway.

Miss Arasin

10:07 AM  
Anonymous sjdude said...

Wash everything together. It will all eventually be gray, then with everything being gray there will be nothing to complain about.....of course there will be nothing to enjoy but hey you can't have everything....can you?

11:18 AM  
Blogger Aerenchyma said...

Ah, but I should have everything sjd. You know that.

9:28 AM  
Anonymous sjdude said...

oh...yeah....my bad

10:46 AM  
Blogger mister williams said...

Oh, crabby aerenchyma, my brown sock baby...But we have a responsibility in this world to respect our differences and realize that just because we wish the whites would keep themselves segregated to the section of town where they belong, they sometimes have the audacity to cross over.

When this happens, unfortunately, there are only two roads of variation: one that respects that they don't like to be touched by brown socks or the one that punches them in the face.

Conversely, the whites have to realize that they can not live unaffected and sheltered by make-believe: in the real world there are brown socks that like to rub up all against you.

Aerenchyma, I know you would rather stand by your guns, but you'd be much happier if you considered revising the last line of your recurring poem. So shut up.

10:56 AM  

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