Real Laundromat

Crisis* in the apartment brought me to the only place one goes in such cases: the laundromat.

Luckily, it's just a short drive down the road, and no one was there. Prime environment. (However, I have discovered that the price in washing machine is 200% higher in public than in my old university dorm....so I won't be taking this up as a hobby.)

As you might be able to tell by the backdrop on this blog, I really do love the place. I honestly cannot say that it is actually the cleaning of garments that attracts me, but probably the heat, smell, and whirring of machines.....which leads me to wonder if I, as a number 2 child, was exposed to a lot of laundering via my mother carrying me about while I was a developing pea pod. Hm.

I also like the fact that most people will leave you alone. I do enjoy a friendly stranger-to-stranger chat in public most of the time, but in the laundromat one is free, free to read, write, or stare into nothingness without the tiniest bit of intrusion. Perhaps people are worried that the subject of dirty socks might come up, and oh! how horrifying would that be!? Either way, they leave one to his soap.

So I took out my laptop and got quite a bit of scribbling, stopping only to drag the two loads of wash into the Giant Industrial Dryer In Which Both The Laudry And I Could Have Fit Comfortably. It was lovely, warm, methodic, and easy to concentrate. Entering into the world which I created was easy because the reality around me became a simple shell, trapping me inside the story. A bonus was that the chair provided by the establishment was just uncomfortable enough to keep me from sleeping.

I once read about a girl who would snuggle into different places to see what it was like to write in that spot. I think this is a grand idea - even though sometimes the places I choose end up being Chatty Cathy Hotspots or such an odd location that I end up looking like a creeper, and people's stares bore through my head. But mostly, I find that the newness/uniquness of the view, smell, sounds, and comfort let my thoughts go where they normally do not travel.

And a lady followed me out to return a sock that I dropped.


Cheers

*our washing machine keeps flooding and not stopping. Jerk.

It Takes a Crane to Build a Crane

This will be short and sweet:

I have realized that the less I read, the less I write.  I wish I were well versed in psychology because then I could understand this connection better. However, I suppose it's human nature; the more you have of a good thing, the more you want to add your own stamp to it and then spread it around.

As you might have deduced, I haven't been reading lately:)