I Like Doing My Laundry
I woke up at 7:50am just to do my laundry. I know that sounds weird but I love cleaning my clothes. I do. I genuinely do. I like how calming and peaceful this very important activity is, and I like how it makes me feel.
Doing the laundry makes me (feel) happy. It brings me joy. Peace. It makes me feel accomplished and productive. Whenever I feel sad or physically unwell washing my clothes always makes me feel better. I can't explain it. There is something so magical about making old things feel new again by doing something that isn't super involved—or time consuming.
Just look at me now (metaphorically, of course!). My laundry is in the dryer and here I am, typing this very odd bit about cleaning my clothes. In about an hour or so I am going to hear a tiny ding! from my phone and then off I'll go; to the cold emptiness of the laundry room to retrieve warm sheets, pillowcases, and blankets. How glorious! How very, very glorious!
But, oh, how I hate folding clothes!
I hate it! I hate it! I despise it. I abhor it. This is the worst part of this entire endeavor.
I hate having to lug a big bag of heavy “stuff” back to my room. I hate having to fold clothes that are hot. I hate having to fold clothes that are static. I hate having to organize and rearrange. I hate folding. I hate it! I hate it!
And that's why it sometimes takes me a while to do it. A day. Or two. Maybe three. Sometimes four. Usually five. Actually—I lied. It's almost always six. Very rarely is it seven, but it happens.
And then I hate myself for it. [add: every. single. time] I hate that my clothes are crumpled. I hate that they are cold. I hate that I forgot to remove the dryer sheets. (which are now cold and smelly) I hate that I procrastinated. I hate it! I hate it! But I still gotta do it.
Because I hate seeing the big bags of clean clothes just lying there. I hate how much space they take up. I hate how big they are. I hate how ugly they make my room look. I hate that they are a constant reminder of my procrastination and laziness. I hate that they remind me of the bags underneath my childhood room. I hate it! I hate it!
But at least I did it, no?