Really losing my shit

So, I have paper due in 24 hours that I haven't even started because I was too busy failing my statistics test last night. I'm also out of clothes and the washing machine has been on the fritz. I go to down to do a load of laundry and of course the load of towels in there is errored out and smells like moldy pee. So I start the load over and add some more soap and give it a bang and pray that it runs so I can have just one clean pair of pants for tomorrow. Since it appears to be my job, I give the repair people a call, afraid that I will have to give up hours on the phone like I did last time, when I found out that the appliance store never changed the serial number the first time they replaced this piece of shit machine. I get on the phone and have to pretend to be married to the asshole I rent the house from and think, "God if I could just get an appointment scheduled, wouldn't that be fucking great?" But, that ain't the way this shit works. The service rep informs me that the purchase price on my unit has been entered in incorrectly (probably by the dumb fucking shit that updated the serial number last time) and until proof of purchase is faxed in, they can't do anything. I will say one thing about that fake asshole husband of mine, he is one meticulous son-of-a-bitch, because the paper work is all here. I type out a fax cover sheet and set that aside to fax in tomorrow. We have a fax machine at home, but it ain't hooked to a phone line, go figure. After this, I go back downstairs just to see that the washing machine has errored out again. So I bang on it and curse at it and break down in tears. I'm so frustrated. I finally pull the sopping towels out of the washer and throw them in the dryer, because that is as far as the spin cycle will go and I have to wash pants because I already wore dirty clothes to work today. I contemplate, just for a few minutes, about going to sears, buying a washer and dryer and having them installed. I'm really that fed up about it. I finally get my clothes started and stop crying and I go upstairs to find the trash overturned and garbage strewn everywhere. A little gift to me for lacking the ability to be in two places at once. I chase the dog around yelling alternately at her and the bit of bread she had stolen, finally chasing her downstairs, where, predictably, the washer has stopped washing again. It's about here that I really, really, really, start to flip out and I leave the room so I don't kill the dogs. Instead of coming upstairs to work on my paper, I have to get this off my chest first. Oh christ.