I think I’m making some progress on my mental recovery from the housing debacle. Today I ordered a new dishwasher and unpacked an entire box of kitchen stuff before sobbing hysterically. What a douche. If I could still do math I’d run the numbers, but since that part of my brain is still jelly, I’ll just guess and estimate at this rate I’ll be fully unpacked by late 2010.
Simone has made her opinion of the situation quite clear. After a boost up onto Mt. McCardboard and the usual ascent to the summit, she proceeded to vomit the biggest and loudest hairball in the history of the universe. Completely out of reach. Awesome. So now I type as the tangy scent of cat chow and stomach bile wafts its way down from the precipice. Good luck getting yourself down now, gato.
In an attempt to nest and feel more settled, I ordered a dishwasher this morning. Yes, totally rational and well thought out, don’t you think? Why do something normal like unpack a box or perhaps clean something? I think ordering major appliances makes far more sense. It’s getting delivered tomorrow. If this isn’t evidence I’ve fried what little rational mind I ever had, I don’t know what is.
Groceries, pshaw. Toilet paper, schmoilet paper. Nope, my purchase of a dishwasher was clearly the most prudent choice. Sure I don’t have a vacuum or garbage bags, but a dishwasher will make me feel better. The house is covered in cat hair and cardboard carnage while all the dishes and pans are still in boxes. Yup, definitely the dishwasher was the priority. Internet, I’m pretty sure I’m losing my mind.
My sudden obsession with clean dishes is absolutely fascinating – especially since I seem to have lost all interest in any other form of cleanliness. Piles of dirty clothes and mail order catalogs are the only infusions of color in this brown cardboard landscape that is my apartment. At some point (though I’m not entirely sure how conscious a decision it was) I decided to stop washing my hair just to see what happened. (To report, I’m on Day Five and it’s starting to feel a little thick and flat. Still style-able…as much as you can style and inch of hair. So far no odor issues as far as I can tell, but I haven’t recruited an independent party for an official sniff test.) There’s also an impressive mound of recycling accumulating, but I can’t seem to get motivated to carry that downstairs. Apparently I’m just going to leave that hairball Simone so generously contributed to my day to dry until its a hard crusty mass rather than find a step stool and clean it up. So clearly, it’s not an issue of general cleanliness. It seems to be all about the dishes. The dishes that sit safe and snug in boxes. Sigh.
I suppose it could have been worse. I could have suddenly ordered a pasta maker or a jukebox or a helicopter. I could have hired a personal assistant or enrolled in a doctorate program. I could practice spinning my head around 360 degrees. See? I’m not nutso! False alarm. Nothing to see here, people.
All the same, I think I’ll leave my credit card at home while I walk down Hoboken to find some dish washing soap to christen my new machine. Let’s see if I can keep it together enough to remember to put on real clothes this time. Damn, drooled right on the keyboard.