Laundry

I'm not sure why I persist in thinking that I am done with the laundry.

Laundry is never done. It is simply in varying degrees of a mess.

There is THE MESS I CAN LIVE WITH and there is THE MESS THAT BOTHERS ME.

Usually the Mess that I can Live With is a moderate pile sitting in the basement basket under the chute, alongside neatly sorted baskets of colors, whites, and towels/sheets awaiting their cleansing spin. And that sits down there unseen by me most of the time.

The Mess that Bothers Me is the basement basket pile that has grown during the week, piling itself ever higher, defying gravity above the lip of the receiving basket, creating slopes and sliding arms like Richard Dreyfus carving a mountain of mashed potatoes.

When I see this, I have to sort and begin washing.

And that is fine and good until I make the crucial mistake of thinking I am DONE. I do a few loads, carry them upstairs, put those clean clothes away and say DONE.

But then I go downstairs, see a new pile sitting in the basket, unsorted, unclean. I am NOT DONE. 

Wash, spin, sit, fold, sort, hang.

Until I go down again . . .