CC: Everyday

The laundry is churning away in the washing machine. The kidlet got off to school with the usual petulant look on her face, her clothes wrinkled, her hair uncombed. The breakfast dishes, if they even made it to the dishwasher, are piled haphazardly. After ten years it's hard to believe that I'm the only person who has seemed to master the art of filling a dishwasher. The hunt for the great unwashed was a bust. The heap of clothes at the foot of the kidlet's bed is anyone's guess. They may have been clean at one point but now have a patina of cat hair from her useless lazy cat. I think I'll just wait for her to grow out of them.
I'll heat up a cup of tea left over in the pot from last night. Maybe have an english muffin. Worry that I'm not getting enough protein. Worry about why I can't remember words anymore and then be self-conscious about speaking because the words just leave. Take a couple of ibuprofen. For now I sit and absorb the relative quiet of this empty house. Except for the splooshing sound coming from the washer. The spin cycle sounds like a jet engine gearing for takeoff.
I think about what I was doing yesterday at this time and so far the day has been a carbon copy. In fact, it seems, everyday is a carbon copy of the one before. You'd think that the copy would degrade after time, get a little frayed in the margins, maybe lose clarity, get just a little bit harder to understand. It's like this book I'm currently reading. I'm two-thirds of the way through it. Nothing has happened. I've started this same book twice before and given up on it. I'm determined to slog my way through it this time though. It can't possibly get any drier. And such is life....determined to slog through it, hoping something exciting will happen, and that all of the excruciatingly dull minutiae of this particular story will have meaning at the end.