dirty dishes talk to me

Damned short term memory problem...I had a blip earlier in the day where I nearly had this whole post written out (in my messed up mind it was all written up), and now....nothing. A big.fat.nothing. Except that I know I had my sudden bout of fabulous blog entry dream seconds after I glanced around my ever-so-dirty kitchen and saw the mounting pile of dirty dishes. They were mocking me. They were talking under their breaths to each other when they saw the sweat beading on my forehead with the thought of getting them all cleaned. They thought they were so smart, the clean cookie sheets jumping into the sink to hang out with the dirty pizza pan. The quesadilla maker resting nonchalantly next to the sink after it had just dumped all of my clean forks into the saucepan with remnants of Prego mushroom pasta sauce in the bottom.

It's all I could do to control myself and not take a sledgehammer to the whole mess. Then that would have meant a bigger mess, and not to mention an explanation to the hubby and the landlord. So that destructive thought slowly drifted out of my head and the wonderful blog entry about it entered. Unfortunately the above mentioned nonsense was not the fabulous post I had envisioned.