There’s an Alpaca in My Dryer.

T-minus two hours ago, I completed my first ever load of laundry on the “delicate” setting.

It was pretty much a big deal.

Lord only knows what’ll happen the first time I take something to the dry cleaners. Perhaps some Xanax is in order.

For the last 25 years of my life, I’ve shoved every article of clothing possible (regardless of color, fabric, or instructions) into the wash willy nilly, and hit the first button my finger landed on. Once, in college, I tried using dish soap instead of laundry detergent. (It doesn’t work, by the way.)

Don’t judge me.

I’m also not a huge fan of this thing they refer to as “folding.” But that’s for another blog.

Anyhow, it occurred to me as I delicately placed my alpaca sweater into the dryer (holy crap, there’s an alpaca in my dryer) that my life up until now has been largely finesse-free.

I like to think of myself as a sliiiiiightly more attractive version of Ferdinand the Bull, plowing through life to get it done, damages be damned. I know what I want, and when I want it, I go all out to get it. I say what I mean, and mean what I say. I have a severe allergy to bullshit and people who waste my time with their meandering and inability to ride with the bulls, so to speak.

But maybe trampling over the flower beds and crushing the egg shells is no longer an optimal mode of transportation?


I don’t like this thought, by the way. Just saying.

I also don’t like that this blog has no real clincher to it, but rather an unsettling amount of unanswered questions.

Perhaps there are things, people, actions, thoughts, etc. that are more fragile than I assumed. And although I’d like to continue trampling very much, I’d also like to have those entities in my life in full, undamaged bloom.

So here’s to kid gloves, and being gentle enough to stop and smell the roses once in a while.

Updates to come.


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