Poor saps and just do your job

I'm staring at the giant industrial front loaders as zippers tink on the front glass, bright colors swirling around murky water. Underwear are cavorting with dirty socks and getting to know fish towels who wrap around sweaters before getting tossed into tshirts. In the next washer my sheets are getting all tangled up together and I contemplate my mindset when purchasing as it seems my sleepwear all have similar hues. Like I sleep on grass, dirt, or sky colors. Nothing sexy like silk and maroon. Nope. Dirt.
The high speed spin cycle kicks in and gray water sloshes over the door. Sharon jones cooes in my ear. I am trying to breath, to calm. I am trying to be alone. I am trying not to get distracted or think about the cavernous pit of my checking account where there's only a echoing bouncing noise over and over. Sharon jones is throwing out a lover emphatically. He comes back and says his car is stolen. She says she isn't falling for that one again. I start wondering if that ever actually works as an excuse, but then al green comes on with his testimony of love in a million different similes and metaphors about love and how awesome she is and I can't help but feel bad for the poor sap who lost his car. Then i feel bad foe men in general. Seems like they cant help themselves. Seems like all this anguish over women is entirely out of their control. First wash cycle is done.

Now it's time for dryer roulette. Chose the wrong one, and you're out 3 quarters and a quarter of an hour. But you really don't know which one works until you try. Good thing I have 5 laundry baskets full. In any case, this should take awhile.

I stare at the soda machines, ignore the dull growl in my abdomen, and ponder why no one does rocking flute solos anymore. Second shift stinks as there's this impending time limit on everything, knowing that there's only X amount of time before I have to head back to work. I like being a boss but I totally hate staffing. It's always one thing or another with everyone. They love me or hate me or I am being unfair or forcing them to work.  Fascinating how when asked to do your fucking job you would get so upset at the thought. Or they want more hours then complain about working too much. Trying to balance a budget when it involves such diverse variable such as rushes of customers or employees texting off an leaving me understaffed.
Temptations sticcato how they can't get next to you and I take that as my cue to listen to something else. Now Tom Waits is floating through notes of you can never hold back spring in his eerie -I just ate a bunch of glass- way, follwed by piano pummeling out a bass melody like a march of doom which reminds me of why my checkbook is cavernous. i purchased a beautiful keyboard.
I haven't had a real instrument since a dog snapped a cord off my last expensive, beautiful keyboard and I've been floundering since. For a couple years. But draining my entire account into this beautiful Privia was marginally insane, however very worth it for the release I get when my fingers hit the weighted keys.
Now all those pent up thoughts that I can't even articulate in the hundreds of words I hide here are oozing out note by note, scribbled into my notebook like a map legend that navigates the corners of my mind.
Now I speak in my second language, eyes on the black and white, then out the window, then closed as my fingers become possessed.

....and now round one is out if the dryer and I consolidate into the one that works and begin folding. I iron out my thoughts and make a plan of attack for the day. Mantra is -do your fucking job, it's not that hard. Kinda funny how evading work is often more difficult than actually doing the work. But then again, I am the queen on the path of least resistance which is often harder than the discomfort of just putting my foot down and saying what I mean. But I'm more paralyzed by second guessing myself than I am lazy. Fuck. 10 minutes before I have to leave for work. But at least all my clothes are clean. I wish I could just put on clean jeans and a clean sweater and melt into the grass on a field staring at the sky without a time limit. Day off soon is much needed.