Wednesday, April 07, 2010


Last night while I was streaking around the living room, alternately pointing and shouting "Desmond...Widmore...Charlie...Eloise Hawking...Faraday...Oh, Sayid...Penny!" and other related LOST terms, I should really have been pushing a vacuum at the same time. Or maybe picking up trash, which consists in large part of Darcy's "buried" dog food. Or perhaps unloading the dishwasher in order to load it again. Or maybe even washing some laundry so I don't have to wear pajamas to work tomorrow.

I didn't do any of that.

I decided that the trash can, which had been filled, smooshed, crammed, jammed, smashed, punched, draped lightly, and then covered with carefully balanced refuse, had to be emptied this morning. I mean, I pay for Trash R Us to come and get it. The least I can do is put something in the can and haul it out. I just don't understand why I always have to be the one to take it out. Oh, yeah, OK.

I guess I should stop waiting for someone else to take it out.

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