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Dark Laundry Day
"Yea, it's a coffee day, for sure," I say to my brother, Phil, as he pulls himself off the living room couch.
Back with a light blue mug. A soccer game plays on his laptop. Muttered voices of the announcers carry vaguely across the room to the armchair in which I am seated. It's rainy. One window is cracked. I'm wearing navy blue, head to toe. The waistband of my pajama shorts is reminding me that I need to pee. Shula, the cat, clomps down the stairs at her fairly old, fairly heavy, age. The dryer is the noisiest thing in this house.
Phil's black t-shirt matches his black, gold-toed socks from JCPenney. Gold toes make cotton socks feel like royalty. My navy and his black outfit are missing their chance at laundry day. The rain and washing machines didn't coordinate scheduling this week.
I spent most of my morning making a playlist appropriate for 2nd-6th grade dance classes. A-Ch artists in my iTunes library left me with a tune line up that is merely satisfactory. Sometimes limitations foster creativity. Limited selection, in this case, fostered limited time spent selecting. With my entire library at my fingertips I'd still be perusing, and probably on infinite tangental searches. Perhaps limitations foster some efficiency, or at least a determined focus.
Mom closes the living room door, knowing she will conduct a bit of a ruckus in the kitchen. Thoughtful.
Phil responds to some sort of event happening in his laptop soccer match, "Ohh!"
He's wearing a watch.. Does he always wear a watch?
I stretch my arms up over the armchair, arch my back, and feel my elbows crack.
I ask, "Do you always wear that watch?"
Eye's still glued to the screen, Phil responds, "Yea, most of the time."
I pause to check Instagram. Knowledge gained: An acquaintance from college has moved to a new Brooklyn neighborhood. It appears to be near Prospect Park (Prospect Heights? Crown Heights? Is that where my friend Erica lives?), where it was raining two weeks ago. A dude cradled an origami locus on the train there, also two weeks ago.
Now I will finally pause to pee. I'll go upstairs because I just heard Mom close the bathroom door downstairs, followed by a toilet flush. Strike that. In the time it took me to type the last sentence, she has already made it back to the kitchen. BRB.
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