I have some daily rules that I live by in my little house. The two most important are to make my bed and do my dishes.

But this was one of those let the fucking dishes slide kind of day, so I did.

I rolled my feet onto the floor at 0715 this morning, and straight into my clothes, instead of my robe. I was hungry, I called my neighbor Daniel and he was on the same wave length.

We drove to the Square in my truck and had their Saturday buffet. It's funny, but I've never had more than one round there, I just build me up a good plate.

Later I ate those sliders, all four of them. Then Daniel wanders over from his nap and say's he's heading into town for Chinese food.

He came back with a container of good stuff and we both ate a plate full.

Anyway, back to the fucking dishes, two more plates and a couple of forks have joined in.

I can't remember the last time I've used an electric dishwasher, it's been decades. I am a professional dish washer, having once dragged myself from hopelessness, to a job at the local hotel, for a few years.

I asked myself if destroying my buzz by doing the dishes was the right thing to do now, and myself said hell no!

Living alone and caring just for yourself is challenging. I have empathy for those that have to work, on top of it, and sometimes we just have to say, fuck the dishes.

And do them in the morning...