Heretic Blues

I've started many exciting literary journeys of late, but not a one has made it to the "published" sphere of this blog space. I want to remedy this; my fans are counting on me! (Oh, the joys of tongue-in-cheek phrasing) So without further ado or snide, self-deprecating remarks, here's a post for you--freshly raised from the dead; reanimated if you will; saved from the purgatory of the draft folder:

It's tough being a heathen in a country that celebrates a lot of Christian holidays. Sometimes it really gets in the way of my daily routine. Like today, for example: Jesus screwed up my laundry. Boy, did he ever!

I have only recently begun enjoying the luxury of having days off. Because I was working so much previously, my household duties have been shirked and bypassed and overlooked and just generally not done. I am just now beginning to catch up. As you might imagine, working seven days a week and not having access to a washing machine outside of a laundromat, my laundry has gotten a little out of hand. Today, however, I woke up happy, knowing that I could finally tackle the mountain of accumulated textiles in my basket. I had big plans. I was going to put three and a half loads in one of those giant machines at the laundromat, which would have been done washing in only 23 minutes. Then I was planning on bringing it all home to dry, which would allow me the time to finish my state taxes and do my nebulizer medication before I went in to work. The post-brewery schedule: a nice run and some really vigorous housecleaning. Such grandiose plans. But alas, it was not to be. Jesus had other ideas.

It's Easter!












Because the whole country has to screech to a halt in homage to a cool dude who died 2,000 years ago, and whose magical resurrection from said expiration is celebrated by 3/4 of our nation's citizens, the laundromat is closed and I am screwed. I ended up getting to wash only one small load of the whole towering mess, and that was accomplished late at night by sneaking into the laundry room of a friend's apartment complex. I don't like doing stealth laundry. It makes me feel morally compromised. And being sneaky and morally compromised on Easter seems even more wrong and depraved than it would on any other day. All this stress and guilt and philosophical hand-wringing--all over a pile of laundry.

Dang, Jesus, give me a break!

Ah well, I can still rest peacefully tonight because he loves me anyway, according to all the bumperstickers...he's a nice guy and all.