It's easy to start this with I hate laundry but I won't because I don't. I mean not all the time.
I do detest how it multiples like so many rabbits.
I detest how it's never really done. It's frightening how after doing a few loads I put it all away and look inside the closet to put back the baskets only to find a pile ready there, waiting, looming in the darkness like a beast that must be tamed or else....
It is omnipresent, omnipotent, omni$%@. Now, I mustn't lose my temper, for what's the use. Laundry is like the sun, more reliable than the sun. It will be there for me. Every single day.
I admit, I do like the meditative quality it offers. Folding for example is a simple brainless task accompanied with nice smells and a feeling of homeliness. Relaxing.
But it is thankless. It is perhaps the most thankless of thankless tasks. Close competition perhaps for dusting.
No one has thanked me for their undies or hankies or shirts. It's quite the reverse. 'Have you not done the laundry? Really need those jeans.' Never, 'Thanks so much for this! It smells divine. I've been wanting to wear these jeans for days!'
And so I do find myself wishing it would end, go away, disappear, even though I know it won't.
Not until I'm dead.
Laundry is like the cockroach. When the world ends, it'll live on like the cockroach. And thrive. Not get done of course since no one will be left to do it.
But it'll be there, waiting for the next boatload of people to restart its relentless machinery.
Bracing myself now, for after I post this, I must go put away three baskets worth. Only this time I am prepared for I know there lies lurking in the dark recesses of the closet, two sets of sheets at least, along with who knows how much more....
I do detest how it multiples like so many rabbits.
I detest how it's never really done. It's frightening how after doing a few loads I put it all away and look inside the closet to put back the baskets only to find a pile ready there, waiting, looming in the darkness like a beast that must be tamed or else....
It is omnipresent, omnipotent, omni$%@. Now, I mustn't lose my temper, for what's the use. Laundry is like the sun, more reliable than the sun. It will be there for me. Every single day.
I admit, I do like the meditative quality it offers. Folding for example is a simple brainless task accompanied with nice smells and a feeling of homeliness. Relaxing.
But it is thankless. It is perhaps the most thankless of thankless tasks. Close competition perhaps for dusting.
No one has thanked me for their undies or hankies or shirts. It's quite the reverse. 'Have you not done the laundry? Really need those jeans.' Never, 'Thanks so much for this! It smells divine. I've been wanting to wear these jeans for days!'
And so I do find myself wishing it would end, go away, disappear, even though I know it won't.
Not until I'm dead.
Laundry is like the cockroach. When the world ends, it'll live on like the cockroach. And thrive. Not get done of course since no one will be left to do it.
But it'll be there, waiting for the next boatload of people to restart its relentless machinery.
Bracing myself now, for after I post this, I must go put away three baskets worth. Only this time I am prepared for I know there lies lurking in the dark recesses of the closet, two sets of sheets at least, along with who knows how much more....
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