The deep down crazies, the wet willies, the screaming moist!

My sheets were taken from the dryer before the cycle finished.

Oh, Lord
Don’t take me from that dryer before my time

My sheets are a light grey, a Target superstore grey, an oatmeal grey. The kind of grey that just lounges around, like grey-eyed people in the afternoon. Right now they are a dark grey. They are the color of grade school embarrassment. Because somebody took them from the dryer before their time.

Oh, Lord
Someday I’ll be ready
Someday I won’t be clammy

They are so cold that when I lay between them I dreamt, for five minutes, the furious dreams of a betrayed Eskimo. They are slowly evaporating all the heat from my body and my room. I woke up thinking somebody was trying to cure me of malaria, after only the least bit of dreaming. I dreamt I showed up to class wearing nothing but a parka, long underwear, earmuffs, a ski mask, mittens, and Uggs.

Oh, Lord
Don’t steal the money from my laundry card
Don’t sleep with my baby or put salt in my yogurt
Don’t take me from that dryer before my time

My jeans are wringing wet. My socks are like sponges. My shirts have been to the gym without me. My grocery list is soggy. My ideas are beginning to mildew. If God exists, why is there evil? And why laundry evil? I’ve had to compensate by dragging down all my winter and summer blankets and piling them on top of each other. I’m going to sleep wrapped in a big blue tie-dye sheet for Thailand. It’s finely woven but it looks ridiculous. This is its big moment. It’s like a second-string quarterback. It’s still cold. I can feel the marine, wintry cold of my undried sheets just below, stealthy the mattress, laughing silently at me, like pitiless, moist adversaries.

I’ll shed my lint and say my lonesomes
Permanent press but I am ready
Don’t take me from that dryer before my time!

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