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I hate this washing machine.
I hate this washing machine.
No, I don't think that putting the orifice for clothes insertion and removal at knee level is good design, why do you ask? Why yes, my lower back trouble is thrilled to be provided with this opportunity to give me grief.
The little rubber or whatever collar around the damn front-loading thing is probably a good idea to keep water from leaking out, but I could do without it accumulating pools of fluid that pour out on me, containing whatever entertaining spores the basement has generated in the past however long it's been since I did laundry, when I'm attempting to load new dirty laundry in.
I would like to be able to wash the comforter from the bed, which the cats threw up on, without having to do the laundry equivalent of sitting on the suitcase so it compresses enough to be zippable. And without jamming my finger.
Kevin says he'll take the damn thing out again, at least. My joints praise.
In other domesticity, my dreams last night apparently are continuing in their trend towards representing my housewife status and possibly nagging me about inadequacy; apparently my subconscious desperately wants to go grocery shopping with![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
erispope and brooksmoses. And included the directive, when Brooks acquired bananas, that he should feed the banana peels to my rosebushes.
Now I'm going to call the goddamn clinic again.
Addendum: Answered quickly, transferred up to adult medicine. Thirty rings may be more annoying than the equivalent in four-language hold message. No space for a physical available in their schedule. Call back tomorrow morning.
I hate this washing machine.
No, I don't think that putting the orifice for clothes insertion and removal at knee level is good design, why do you ask? Why yes, my lower back trouble is thrilled to be provided with this opportunity to give me grief.
The little rubber or whatever collar around the damn front-loading thing is probably a good idea to keep water from leaking out, but I could do without it accumulating pools of fluid that pour out on me, containing whatever entertaining spores the basement has generated in the past however long it's been since I did laundry, when I'm attempting to load new dirty laundry in.
I would like to be able to wash the comforter from the bed, which the cats threw up on, without having to do the laundry equivalent of sitting on the suitcase so it compresses enough to be zippable. And without jamming my finger.
Kevin says he'll take the damn thing out again, at least. My joints praise.
In other domesticity, my dreams last night apparently are continuing in their trend towards representing my housewife status and possibly nagging me about inadequacy; apparently my subconscious desperately wants to go grocery shopping with
erispope and brooksmoses. And included the directive, when Brooks acquired bananas, that he should feed the banana peels to my rosebushes.Now I'm going to call the goddamn clinic again.
Addendum: Answered quickly, transferred up to adult medicine. Thirty rings may be more annoying than the equivalent in four-language hold message. No space for a physical available in their schedule. Call back tomorrow morning.
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