Little m Long a

There’s a hole in the sky.  Light peeks through, an exercise in futility.  Pinkish, purplish, shades struggling to spread.  It’s more like a stain in a endless sea of gray.  A monochrome palette based in white.

For an instant there is hope.  Only an instant.  The struggling stain is swallowed almost as quickly as it appeared and the gray is once more.

Everywhere.

My dishwasher died.  My fucking dishwasher!  We had a deal and the damn thing just up an bailed on me.  What the hell?

It’s a simple arrangement.  The dishwasher has purpose, a vital role in my everyday life.  I depend on my dishwasher, I rely on my dishwasher.  Do I ask too much?  Expect too much?

I don’t think so.

I help.  I pre-rinse before loading.  I balance the loads.  Never too heavy, I always do the pots and the deep scrubbing.  I’m not afraid to pre-soak.   And not too light.  I’ll gladly handle a few items rather than burden it with mundane or menial.  I constantly strive to make it’s work easier.  But I still expect it to work when I need it to.

And this!  This is how I’m repaid.  You wake me up in the middle of the night to let me know you’re quitting.  You made me worry and fret.  Lose sleep.

Dear lord what is the world coming to when you can’t rely on your household appliances!!!