Have you ever read Vonnegut?

Have you ever read Vonnegut...while doing laundry?

I totally stole that joke from a monkey, but it was my situation. Let me relate to you the tale of detergent and raw descriptions of American life.

Stark white laundry room, bright and lonely. Hot and humid with fragrance. I wash my clothes and start Breakfast of Champions. The book consumes me and fascinates me, warping my mind as books tend to do. I am sleepy and irritable. Dryers hum. Sun shines. My washer decides to blink "UNBALANCED! UNBALANCED!" and I am confused. I open it and nothing is happening. So I take out my soaked snot rags and panties and put them in a dryer. Go back to the world in my book. Another washer beats loudly. The beats get faster. I look up from my book, silently, and watch a soapy puddle gradually cover the floor. I fear the machine will explode. I sneak toward the door, wondering if I should take my purse. I read the sign with a phone number for repairs and make a mental note of it.

I don't know why I was so slow leaving. If I seriously thought it was gonna blow up, why was I sticking around? It's probably the fight-or-flight response, of which I am neither. I am somewhere in the middle. I don't want to stay and be in danger, but I don't want to leave and miss an opportunity to see something spectacular. When I thought I saw a wolf coming out of my woods, I stood there because I wanted to see it; I was scared, though. (It turned out to be my little cat with a bunny in her mouth. On Easter Sunday, no less.) And I've always wanted to see a funnel during a tornado. So, I waited to see the machine explode in a fantastic burst of metal, electricity, t-shirts, and bubbles.

It stopped its beating when I reached the door.

I paced around in the water reading my book. I seriously thought about the strange things it told me. One phrase that stood out was "Why me?" Well, why not you? None of us are special. A piano could fall out of the sky and kill any of us without prejudice. I have a happy life that keeps me interested in the world, and I think, of course I'll be around tomorrow and the next day and so forth. Chances are, yes, I will be, but I could very easily die, too. I'm optimistic, but...well, it's something to think about.

The door of my dryer had little streams of water on it. Some dripped out of the door. Oops. But the clothes were joyful. Dryers give stuff instant personality because it's bouncing around. Imagine: a machine that will give you instant personality. I'd read too much Vonnegut...

I saw a puppy in another dryer. Happy brown puppy. Wee!

Monotonous foldings of twenty white squares of cloth. One is frazzled, and I remember when I ripped it to make someone laugh.

Before I left, I mentally bookmarked my page (58), and turned to see the puppy. Now it's a bear, completely different from the puppy I once knew.

I guess the machine can change you into someone else.