Today I am recovering from the flu, and was feeling pretty good this morning, mostly due the high I get when I take cold medicine. So I’m riding the Dayquil train and decided to do some spring cleaning and a couple loads of laundry.
Our laundry room is located in the depths of what I like to call the Rape Basement. In order to get to the laundry room you have to unlock two doors, go down some flights of stairs and turn on a light which may or may not work for one of the lightbulbs that hangs from the ceiling. In the Rape Basement only one or none of the lights work, so you have to use a flashlight (it’s scarier this way. The shadows play tricks on you, and all the wall stains look like blood.) or navigate through the darkness, bumping into the blood walls and feeling the sickening tails of the pull-dangle ceiling lightbulb strings trail across your face.
I made my way through the murder labyrinth and was switching my laundry out when I realized I had managed to wash 2 pairs of headphones and an entire pack of cigarettes with my clean-ish clothes. “I guess that’s one way to quit,” I mumbled to myself while picking soggy cigarette butts out of my underwear.
I shake off the disappointment of wasting/washing an entire pack of Camel Crushes and walk up the stairs only to find that the door has been locked from the inside. I, having no keys or cell phone, pound at the door and scream at the top of my lungs for as long as my poor half-dead lungs could muster. No dice.
I decide to try my luck outside, and try the front door. That would have just been too easy. The front door is locked. Both my roommates’ cars are gone from the driveway. One of my roommates mentions getting home at around 2:30, so I sit on the front porch and wait.
Remember, before I got locked out I had been doing laundry, so I’m sitting on the front porch in christmas fuzzy socks, a purple sweater that has three wolves howling at the moon on it, no bra, and a pair of bright green Sheldon High School booty shorts I kept from that one year I got into cheer camp.
I’m sitting outside for about 45 minutes, and all I can think about is how much I wish I had a beer to help kill the time, and how pale my thighs are, when suddenly my neighbor comes home and lets me go through her house to our shared patio. At this point I’m so angry and full of adrenaline that all I want to do is plow through 2 or 3 cigarettes. Oh wait, I WASHED THEM. I push the back door to the balcony, thinking there is no way in hell this is left unlocked. I always lock this door, and SWEET SWEET JESUS IT OPENS. It opens. I’m in. The day is saved, just in time for more Dayquil and a nap.
milky feelings 