A sock or two lay forlorn under my laundry drying rack so I stooped to pick them up and put them on a rung. "There you go." The socks promptly flopped to the floor again as i squeezed past on my way to my new job. I generally try to be nice to my laundry. You never know what objects might do.
But I have a limit to my kindness to socks, so I said. "It's days like this that I really miss having a dryer so you just lie there on the floor until I get home from work, ha!" and slammed the door. The socks said nothing.
That's probably a good thing. If the socks suddenly started talking back it would only mean one thing: fiction is real, which by definition would make it non-fiction. Also, I'm probably crazy.
I left my house late for a variety of reasons, the primary one being that Geumbi started mewing at three am this morning and did not stop until I it was past time for me to get up. I assumed she wanted to her wet cat food (I mix her medicine in it, mwhhhhaaaaa) but as it turned out, she just wanted me to plug the water fountain back in. Yesterday morning, I did two things worse than snarling at socks, I unplugged the pet's water fountain for the iron and didn't plug it back in. I also shut the drawer on Mr. Bear. He was inside my wardrobe when I got home. Thankfully he didn't leave my any surprises.
All this is to say that, ever since I arrived at work, m y eyes have been drooping heavily to my knees and mainlining the coffee hasn't had the desired effect. Thus I've typed this with my eyes closed. Seriously.