sometimes I’ll sit down with the computer with the intention to write, and have no idea what to write about. This is one of those moments. I’m dealing with an assortment of issues right now. Fortunately none of them are HUGE or particularly stressful. Mainly it’s housewify things like the washing machine or chicken breasts or a pile of clean laundry so diverse in it’s composition that I can’t summon the enthusiasm to fold it.
That pile of laundry, it’s like…I don’t know. When I fold things, I like them to be alike in nature, so I can create a satisfying stack of (whatever) and feel a sense of accomplishment when it’s done. I can look at it and say “See what I’ve done! 2 neat stacks! One of denim jeans and one of dark colored t-shirts!” It feeds my sense of efficiency.
However, when I have a pile like the one sitting there in the rocking chair, accusing me, one that is composed of (let’s see…)bedsheets, kitchen towels, a blue polo shirt, a pair of kids board shorts, Terry’s pajama pants, and some other stuff…my laundry folding mojo suffers shrinkage and slumps off to the kitchen, to eat pickles from the jar and complain about the leaky washing machine.
It doesn’t happen often, this disorganized pile of laundry. Generally, I’ll do the wash on Mondays. 5 loads- 3 of mine and Terry’s (whites, darks, pants) and 2 of Eli’s (pants and not-pants). Folding results in nice, organized piles that satisfy the OCD side of my brain, and color coordination of the piles pleases the artist. But, once in a while, there will be a load of odds and ends, the sock I found under the couch, the sheets that I forgot to change, the stray bit of this and that and it all adds up to make the once-a-month Odd Lot. Which then crouches in the living room rocking shair, mocking me for over a week until I get off my lazy keister and fold it. It is SO unsatisfying, like eating a head of cabbage where you know you feel full but your palate is so underwhelmed you want to slurp down a can of Maesri Green Curry just for the stimulation. I will fold and fold and even after 20 minutes of folding will not have a single worthwhile stack of ANYTHING…just all these folded things sitting there by themselves, each one going to a different room so there isn’t even the sense of accomplishment that comes from loading up a dresser drawer.
It’s like…when you go to StuffMart and the clerk puts one or two things in each bag, and you wonder why did she even bother with bags, since each item got it’s own. (That’s why I love the cloth tote bags. Not because I’m a GreenFreak, but because I HATE those plastic bags, and the StuffMart cashiers always put TONS of stuff in the totes. And they stand up in the trunk of my car.) That’s the same quality of frustration I get from this hodge-podge load of laundry.
I don’t mind laundry, it is nice to stuff things in a couple of machines, and they go in smelly and stiff (Terry spends the bulk of his days either outside or inside a 115 degree textile mill) and come out supple and lightly fragrant. It’s satisfying to look in the closet and see SO MANY OPTIONS, and to know your child will, for at least a week, be suitably dressed. It’s also fun to feel all Housewifey and stuff, sitting on the couch, making neat piles while watching What Not To Wear and scoffing at pointy-toed stilletoes. So the issue isn’t the laundry, it’s the…random. I hate random.