Finally doing laundry.
I'm just glad clothes can't press domestic abuse charges.
Same here. I'd get twenty to life.
So I go down to the laundry room
eek
and start the washer going. Forty minutes later, I go back down to put my stuff in the dryer and the flippin' washer is flashing an "out of order" notice. It couldn't have mentioned this
before it stole my buck-sixty-five? Second time this has happened. :kickingmyself:
Unplugged it, waited, started it again, hoping for the best (it worked last time, but :idontknow
. I'm also hoping the Easter Bunny will bring me a nice new house so I can split this rat-trap once and for all—and my own freaking laundry room.
Hell ain't so big. It's just 750 square feet, rented by the month. :crying:
ETA:
All right, upon sober reflection, I must admit that my experience pales next to the indignity
Odo is suffering at the moment. (My sympathies, sir, and I wish you a speedy resolution and recovery.) It's just been going on for so long—years and years—with no end in sight outside the realm of fantasy. The laundry thing, the insurance thing, the cable thing, the case of shingles (painful, very painful) I got from the stress of the cable thing, et cetera, and so forth, and on and on and on. A guy can get a little frustrated with a system that doesn't seem to understand or care that cliff-dwellers are people too.