42 Dreams of Arizona Bay

What is it about dishes that right after you’ve dirtied them, they look easily taken care of? And then they transform, overnight, into some great guilt monster?

I have no excuse. I wanted to watch back-to-back episodes of Star Trek (the original) last night. I got up long enough to make lemon blueberry cheesecake bars, which only compounded the mess. I thought, surely, during a less interesting part of a Star Trek episode (read unbearably horrible and cheesy), I’d get up and do the dishes.

Eventually, as I grew sleepy, I decided they could be done first thing in the morning.

No.

And the thing is, we have a dishwasher. A nice one. How hard is it to load and unload?

If I could just figure out the answer (not 42), I might be able to make some money.

So now the dishes are lurking. And instead of doing them, I’ve been editing photos from Halloween, looking at classes for next semester (prospects not good for someone who works at night) and  enrolling in crappy health insurance. Why is it changes to your health insurance are never for the better, or cheaper? Even when your company engorged itself on a bunch of other companies, and therefore should be able to negotiate cheaper rates for everyone? No. Nothing is ever cheaper. And dishes don’t do themselves.