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Tex Commando

I'm not angry, just outspoken

Remember when I said that I do my best thinking while I’m vacuuming? Wanna know why I haven’t thought much? My Dyson is dying. It still sucks as well as the day we bought it. It’s the other parts that suck now. Mr. T had to fix the plug, like, an hour before he left because it was practically off the cord. As in- there were wires that didn’t touch each other so it wouldn’t turn on and when it was plugged into the wall, there was actual electricity flying around the plug WHERE MY HAND WAS!!! Don’t worry. I didn’t get electrocuted. And, I have part of it taped together with scotch damn tape because the part that you depress in order to use the hose broke and I lost the spring so now I can either always just use the hose, or always just push the damn thing around. Oh yeah, and I have to take the tape off in order to empty the canister. FUCK!

I’m a little anxious as I write this because I love to vacuum. Really. I love it! I love to hear the little dirty bits of dirt get sucked up into the swirling gray whirlwind as I pass it over my kid-dirtied carpets. I’m obsessive about it. I can’t just vacuum one spot on the carpet. I have to do the entire thing. Then the other one. Then the other area. And since I just vacuumed the rugs, why not flip that little switch and do the hardwoods? And, it’s pointless to suck the wood unless I’m going to suck the crack too. Ummmm…. I mean, the corners. Of the room. Where the dust bunnies collect. Then I realize that I can’t suck upstairs without sucking down below. It’s not fair to the bottom floor. Of the house. So, what should have taken 3 minutes turns into 45+ because I get sucked into it. (pardon the pun)

That’s really the only household chore I don’t hate doing. I actually don’t like anyone else to do it. I told you, I’m a bit obsessive about it. Oh yeah, I just thought of another reason I like it so much. It’s loud, and I can’t hold a conversation/listen to children while I am doing it.

As a result of my sucker sucking, I haven’t had the pleasure of taking time to think about life’s issues. So, you get stories of my kids shitting themselves. Sorry.

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