Cold water wash

I don't want to complain, but I'm battling a spring cold, which is only a shade less unnatural than a summer cold.

Periodically bursting into lopsided nasal showers, I do the relay up and down the stairs to the laundry room. Sharing machines with the thirty-four other units in the building is something I haven't had to do for years. Doing it with a cold is even less fun.

Young daughter is rehearsing this song for her spring recital. I find myself tearing up a little as I listen, partly because I'm sick, partly because it's a song sung by a girl with her arm in a sling because her boyfriend beats her and she's dreaming of a life with a kind man, and partly because -- dammit -- I miss having my own washer and dryer.