laundry
I know it's over there.A hulking basket of my dirty laundry is in the house sitting on the dryer, waiting to be washed. Yes, I need to wash it.
And yes, I did dirty my jeans up today while buying bricks and a windchime to use tomorrow in the studio. Yes, you can use bricks as an instrument of you pile them up and roll around on them like I plan to do. Yes, I am also an idiot, BUT... the fact remains that my clothes are not washed.
I have to go over there and at least start them, but I know that one of my shitbird roommates has probably got the washers and dryers all filled up with their clothes, so if I go to wash mine I'll have to wash and/or dry theirs too to get them out of the way.
When I am rich I will employ 100 scientists to come to my house on nice afternoons and walk around my enormous back yard deep in thought until we construct a robot that washes my clothes for me, which I will then put in the basement so it can be alone.
Which is not to say that I won't go down there from time to time and sing songs to it to thank it for washing my clothes, if only I had the time what with those fucking 100 scientists wandering around the place shouting EUREKA and knocking over my fake ficus trees.
Those brainy fuckers, I'll tan their hides!
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