Bear with me here, I've got some serious blog-writers-block and I'm trying to just push through it.
So anyways, I've always found it amazing how many dishes I can dirty- just me living all by myself. I suppose it doesn't help that I have the tendency to use every single clean dish in my cabinet before I finally suck it up and wash the monstrous pile that accumulates.
Well, the other day it happened again. I was down to my last plate and knew I would have to do dishes before my next meal. And that's when it occurred to me- I'm moving in with Curtis soon, and his dishes are much nicer than mine anyway.
With that in mind, there was only one sensible course of action- I took that dirty pile of dishes and threw them all in the trash.
It gave me the most wonderful feeling- perhaps because the whole thing was kind of like a metaphor for all the positive changes that have occurred in my life recently- but also because I really hate doing dishes.
After all that, I went out to the store and bought myself some new dishes:
I like these ones a lot better.
