I stand by the doorway and lean on the yellowed wall, clad in flannel pants, baggy socks and a gigantic sweater, nail file in hand, rocking slightly as I file my nails. It's not as if I prefer to stand when conducting such an activity, it is simply the best option, you see; I know better. I know what will happen if I sit on that couch.

It will eat me.

It will eat me and my precious day off. The hands of the clock will slide to one, two, three, and I will look up to see that my time has been robbed from me. I will not accomplish all that I badly need to do. The couch will eat me and I will be depressed.

I stand so as to keep going. My errands press up against me, irritated by neglect, and poke me in the leg. I've done this so many times before; I compile a neat list of tasks and endeavor to complete them, but my time always finds a way to trickle through my hands like water, and runs down my clothing and leaves me damp and uncomfortable. I hate that. Today I conquer the fluid of my continual failure. So, let us start appropriately:


“Tah Tah rha DAAAAAA!” Go the horns,
“Boom Boom Boom” Go the drums,
“ yay....” Go the enamored onlookers,


“ALL HAIL THE QUEEN OF PRODUCTIVITY WHO TOTALLY DID HER LAUNDRY TODAY!”

Yes, oh squablings of the under-kingdom: your monarch of hotness did do her laundry today. I also cleaned the entire house and wrote my mother a nice, long letter. Kindly note the early time of the day by which I accomplished said impossible tasks. All is well in the Rachaelian kingdom, dear groundlings, all is well, and the land smells sweetly of laundry detergent.

I know this all seems rather silly, but I've continually been disappointed with the spoils of my Tuesdays (the day in which I do not work nor do I attend school). It is now 1:00 PM, however, and I am happy with what I have done thus far. I thought you might like to know.