Tonight I lost a battle with my washing machine.
Ridiculous as it sounds, I think my washer hates me. It refuses to spin the excess water from my load of laundry.
James Arthur is playing on repeat… and I have this sinking feeling in the pit of my gut. I’ve been sober for roughly a week now, not that it’s a hard thing. I prefer to drink with company.
In this 553 square foot apartment, top floor with the dream view… I’ve been nesting. Around 2 a.m. I find myself without fail thinking of an alternative reality. One with the person I wish was here. One where the pain in my gut is only because I’m hungry. One where my washer continued it’s course to spin. One with a TV instead of candles on my living room mantle.
The excess water dwelling in my lavender scented clothes seems like it’s mocking the excess feelings I hold for the person who is now a stranger.
The city lights seem dimmer than they should be. Maybe it’s just me, but even the fireworks doesn’t feel as grand.
Anyway, sorry for the midnight somber thoughts… will be uploading pics of the apartment soon.