Wednesday, January 13, 2010
The downside of activity (part 1)
There are downsides to becoming more active, I mean as active as I have become. Don't mean to toot my own horn or anything ("Rootie-Toot-ToooT!"). For one thing I have to do laundry more often. My laundry situation is unique. I don't have my own washer-dryer, and I don't go to a public laundro-mat either. We live two doors down from our old apartment that's land ladied by the same person. I convinced her that we were too poor to buy a washer-dryer, so she let me keep the key from the coin-opp room attached to our old apartment. So, more laundry means more uncomfortable looks from the residents of the apartment building. They all know I am poaching their machine time. I tried to pretend that I still lived in the building, but the shopping cart full of ratty clothes gave that secret away, "Here comes Homeless Harriet." The location is too close to drive, and too far to carry my laundry by hand, so I was FORCED to use the Hobo Hotwheals to cart my linens. I have recently lost the shopping cart to an angry man who goes around with his truck decal-entitled, "Shopping-cart Salvager," or some lame name. So now I have to use the stroller that my daughter refuses to sit in. I get some great looks walking down the street with a stroller overflowing with clothes and a toddler skipping NEXT to me. I can only imagine what passersby think. "Is that lady crazy? Does she have an invisible baby in there?" Or, "That poor little girl. Someone should find her a good home." Hey hey, this is not a pity party. I love where I live and the budget adventures, so don't give me any junk about not being grateful and "When my husband was in school we had to walk up and down the mountain forty thousand times," I don't want to hear it. My point is, more sweat means more laundry and more reasons for people to think I am homeless, and frankly, it's cathartic to complain to ya'll about my goals and issues. So please for my sanity, keep reading and tell all your friends, and pray that I don't get hit by drunk drivers next time I pit-out my heart and polka-dot t-shirt.