The thrill of it all

You know how some days you’re just “on”? And you know it? And you’re bopping along the street to the rhythm of a song you’re making up inside your keppie, because today you’re just so in tune with the universe and everything and -one in it and you can’t bear the thought of tuning it out by plugging your ears with earbuds or headphones or beeswax or whatever it is that you ordinarily jam into your ears to keep the music in and the voices out? And nothing can stop you, boy oh boyardee, nothing can stand in your way, and you have to believe you are magic? You’re on fire!
Well, I had that kind of day for about three minutes this morning when I went back to the laundromat for the final leg of my tour-de-mat. Just as I reached “my” dryer to collect my stuff for transport back home in my super-sassy dark blue wheelie cart (the so-called adult’s version of a little red wagon), it made one final spin and my laundry tumbled to a fluffy halt, 70 minutes after I’d fed it ten quarters to do the job. I looked around to see if anyone had noticed, but no one seemed to give a damn. Or else they were jealous of my perfect timing (see, this is the second time I’ve done this) and didn’t want to feed my enormous ego by expressing it or even acknowledging my feat.
No one noticed, either, when, after transferring my stuff from the dryer to my cart, I stuck my head into the dryer to make sure nothing was stuck to its sides, and then went into the dryer up to my waist to see if I could fit inside. (I could. With room to spare.) Just in case I was ever on the lam (as opposed to the lamb, a la Selma, Franz, and Jesus), which I frequently am. Because the lam lies down on Broadway, which is just a few steps from the laundromat.
So, riding on the tails of my perfect timing, and revved up by the knowledge that, if I really had to, I could seek refuge inside a dryer, I pushed my cart home, trotting behind it the way peppy runner-parents do with their kids in those specially-made stroller things that rankle the hell out of me, and because I wasn’t wearing earbuds, headphones, or beeswax, let all the voices inside my head … out.
I’m on fire!