The Laundromat Chronicles #3 - Underwear Tornadoes in the Sunshine State
The smell of fabric softener and various flower scented detergents greet my nose. It's not exactly welcoming, but it is a signifying fragrance; the calling card of the laundromat.
Tired and weary after a late night the previous evening and a rough and tumble day of work just to earn a buck, the laundromat isn't exactly the place I most want to reside in at this moment in time. A couch with a tv. A comfy recliner. My futon with the fan blowing on me. These would all be more ideal locales. Alas, with a mass of dirty clothes, it's here I must stay.
As I jot my scribbles into this blue notebook, I seem to find irony in the fact that I have all but abandoned my LJ over the last week. Mayhap this will serve as due diligence. Because I have this trivial notion that those who frequent my LJ want to read my random musings as I wash my clothes. How delusional I must be.
Anticipation. In little more than 24 hours, I will be on an airplane destined for Orlando, Florida. A well earned miniature vacation. Four days away from work, this small apartment, and any semblance of responsibility. Four days reunited with my other birth parent, step mother, and the entire quadet of sisters. And the bevy of activity that comes with a visit from them. How I miss it so. I still am deeply disdain that they moved to Florida from Connecticut. How I miss thee, Constitution State.
I am not moving to Florida. Ever. Reiterate; Not moving there. Ever. Don't get me wrong, I love the state. I always enjoy visiting. But that's where my admiration for the state ends. I get this supreme vibe that I would deeply, deeply regret moving to the Sunshine State. I love my father, sisters, and the family that's all down there. But I think that it would just ebb away my happiness that I have recently attained after years here. I liken my feelings of Florida to that of my feelings to my hometown of Littleton, mostly used as a response to visitors to the town (and in this case, state): "This place is great if you don't have to live here". I never want to prove that saying right by moving to Florida. But I will visit consistently, believe you me.
I always loved watching the dryers as my clothes tumbled around. Because I always thought that that's what it would look like if my underwear was ever caught in a tornado. A steaming hot tornado. Tornado of underwear. I don't think we're in Kansas anymore.
"I like pleasure spiked with pain
And music is my aeroplane
It's. my. aer. o. plane."
The opening chorus of "Aeroplane" by the Red Hot Chili Peppers. On top of being a straight up excellent song, it also serves as my ringtone. And with my lovely on the other line, I make a slight reprieve from the mat to visit her. I shall return. For now, to Target!
And return I have. To what was awaiting my arrival? The underwear tornado had ceased, signaling my inevitable departure. Once again, I forgo folding as the time on the clock reads 8:15. Far too late to hang out in a seedy laundromat. Stacking both hampers full of unfolded, clean clothes, I toss them into the back of Big Red and set sail back to my 3rd floor sanctuary on Court Street.
Florida commences tomorrow night at 8:55. Expect an extension in the semi-hiatus until at least Tuesday upon my return to the Granite State.
Tired and weary after a late night the previous evening and a rough and tumble day of work just to earn a buck, the laundromat isn't exactly the place I most want to reside in at this moment in time. A couch with a tv. A comfy recliner. My futon with the fan blowing on me. These would all be more ideal locales. Alas, with a mass of dirty clothes, it's here I must stay.
As I jot my scribbles into this blue notebook, I seem to find irony in the fact that I have all but abandoned my LJ over the last week. Mayhap this will serve as due diligence. Because I have this trivial notion that those who frequent my LJ want to read my random musings as I wash my clothes. How delusional I must be.
Anticipation. In little more than 24 hours, I will be on an airplane destined for Orlando, Florida. A well earned miniature vacation. Four days away from work, this small apartment, and any semblance of responsibility. Four days reunited with my other birth parent, step mother, and the entire quadet of sisters. And the bevy of activity that comes with a visit from them. How I miss it so. I still am deeply disdain that they moved to Florida from Connecticut. How I miss thee, Constitution State.
I am not moving to Florida. Ever. Reiterate; Not moving there. Ever. Don't get me wrong, I love the state. I always enjoy visiting. But that's where my admiration for the state ends. I get this supreme vibe that I would deeply, deeply regret moving to the Sunshine State. I love my father, sisters, and the family that's all down there. But I think that it would just ebb away my happiness that I have recently attained after years here. I liken my feelings of Florida to that of my feelings to my hometown of Littleton, mostly used as a response to visitors to the town (and in this case, state): "This place is great if you don't have to live here". I never want to prove that saying right by moving to Florida. But I will visit consistently, believe you me.
I always loved watching the dryers as my clothes tumbled around. Because I always thought that that's what it would look like if my underwear was ever caught in a tornado. A steaming hot tornado. Tornado of underwear. I don't think we're in Kansas anymore.
"I like pleasure spiked with pain
And music is my aeroplane
It's. my. aer. o. plane."
The opening chorus of "Aeroplane" by the Red Hot Chili Peppers. On top of being a straight up excellent song, it also serves as my ringtone. And with my lovely on the other line, I make a slight reprieve from the mat to visit her. I shall return. For now, to Target!
And return I have. To what was awaiting my arrival? The underwear tornado had ceased, signaling my inevitable departure. Once again, I forgo folding as the time on the clock reads 8:15. Far too late to hang out in a seedy laundromat. Stacking both hampers full of unfolded, clean clothes, I toss them into the back of Big Red and set sail back to my 3rd floor sanctuary on Court Street.
Florida commences tomorrow night at 8:55. Expect an extension in the semi-hiatus until at least Tuesday upon my return to the Granite State.