Dishwashing blues

Ahhhhhh,
This is going to sound weird, but I can’t wash up my dishes and I’m ‘pissed off!’
The sink is stacked with greasy plates, crusted cutlery, grimy glasses, and is half full of hot water.
But where the hell did the detergent go?
I’ve been eating lamb chops, and bacon, and hummus, and egg, and olive oil, and tomatoes, and mashed potatoes blended with sheep’s yogurt.
I NEED DETERGENT TO MOVE THIS STUFF.

I did have a bottle of detergent.
It was sitting on the window sill above the kitchen sink.
But it’s gone.
Did it fall out the window?
This seems to be the only option, cause I’ve searched all over the flat.

I live on the seventh floor.
A bottle of apple scented detergent falling seven floors is going to make a decent impact right?
I wonder if it hit some one?
Maybe it’s worth not pursuing this issue?
Could the plunging bottle have killed someone’s cat? Or at least scared the living bejesus out of a moggy as the bottle smashed against the earth.
That would be a bonus at least.

I was planning on starting the week with vacuumed floors, clean dishes, and ironed shirts.
It takes a bit of metal momentum for me to attempt these sorts of household chores.
Now my brain is fried.
I managed to get the floor vacuumed before this train wreck occurred, but the pile of laundry waiting for dewrinkerling has become an unscaleable mountain.
I’m writing this blog, just to avoid confronting the obstacle.