Yep. The Dishwasher is wonderful again. It was the way I was putting the stuff in - hampering the tablet dispenser. It seems to love working in fact, which is a hell of a lot more than I can say for me, who absolutely detests it with a passion. It should be illegal (work). People seem to think it's the best thing since sliced bread - even for me. I don't understand this theory - I haven't been happier the past four months as I've been given a legitimate reason to be off work and I absolutely love it. Under no pressure whatsoever from anyone . I've got enough time to fold washing after it comes out the washing machine, dip into magazines, properly put the washing out, cook, propogate plants, sort out the recycling, write a list every day that I can tick things off. Not really give a hoot about anyone else apart from myself (and Phil).
I don't panic about where my diary or mobile phone is or even what time it is. I'm able to meditate twice a day at whatever time I like and just appreciate the beauty of the sunshine, rain or leaves. There is no one judging me, or trying to get one up on me by putting more time into something I'm doing, there's no one criticising my every move and I'm allowed to criticise whoever I want, wherever I want, whenever I want.
They call this freedom. Freedom to sell your beliefs, sell your soul, sell whatever you want - as long as you're also buying with the money you've earned from all that blasted selling. But the labour you sell has got to be something They want. Generally They don't like what I'm selling. I don't want to get into that vicious cycle of Them buying something I don't want to sell or provide, because it's against everything I stand for, but which I then go and spend on something I don't like or want.
But then actually most of the things, if not all of them I need, so, needs must and I need to go back to work, selling my generally unwanted labour to earn some wonga. [I would print a swear word here, but various parents read this blog so I won't offend anyone.]
Time is the most precious thing of all and the fact that we're persuaded, cajouled, convinced and forced to sell most of ours all our lives is a travesty of the so-called modern world.