The dishwasher broke. Last night, I’d meant to run it, either forgot to turn it on or did it wrong, so it didn’t run and when I realized on my way to bed, it was too late and I programmed it to start in the morning. When I got up this morning to make my tea, some fields in its display were blinking that I know aren’t supposed to, and googling the displayed error didn’t even try to lead to some self help guide but went straight to “you need to call someone.” The dishwasher broke five days before Christmas which isn’t really relevant except that it’s true and adds dramatic flair and a sense of urgency because I have zero plans for the holidays as well as zero interest in washing the small amount of dishes I’m planning to use for homemade pizza and aioli by hand. Which is why I sort of had to call someone, but didn’t want to call anyone, and even less before I had had my morning tea.
It seems like I’m at a point in my life now where I look forward to giant cups of black tea. I only started drinking black tea because in early 2024, a friend complained about the quality of coffee at my house (outrageous), and instead of instantly terminating the friend friendship, I asked them what alternative beverages they might enjoy in the morning and they said, Black Tea, specifically English breakfast tea. So I bought a pack of English breakfast tea. For over one and a half years, the English breakfast tea was sitting in my cupboard, unopened, while my friend bought a coffee maker to make better coffee here. One day, when I tried to declutter the cupboard, I tried the English breakfast tea because I didn’t just want to toss it out. I didn’t like it, but once I added some dark honey and milk, I found it tolerable, and that’s really solid as a bar to clear for anything in a morning. The next day, I made more. Now I make one every day, some days two, always half a liter, never less, I boil the water and pour it over the leaves or tea bags and let it sit for far too long while I shower and get dressed. (I don’t think anyone still reads these, understandably so as at this point I’m on a publishing schedule that’s an offense to both schedules and publishing, which one should consider very difficult to do given how low both have fallen by mow, otherwise I might have not mentioned this fact out of concern of offending tea enthusiasts.) Then I sit down with my half a liter of tea which I typically drink in one go. I feel the warm liquid crawling through ugh my body and it feels like tickling the soul alive (or the cute monster, the demon, something for sure). I look forward to my tea now.
I made a compromise with myself and called someone while making tea. I downed the whole cup like it was a giant hot shot of tequila to drown my over exaggerated dishwasher sorrows in tea, honey, and milk, called a second repair place, and immediately made another tea.
The repair person comes by tomorrow.
