Yeah, folding and putting away laundry is my least favorite task. Which sucks, because it takes, like, five minutes. But instead, I leave it and there are slovenly heaps of clothing all around my house all the time, and then my clothes are wrinkled (and I don't iron) and then I go out looking lousy and I come home disconsolate and in no mood to fold laundry. It's a laundry death spiral!
But I suspect that a big part of my problem is that I lack sufficient closet/dresser space. So folding and putting away clothes involves a lot of pushing and squishing and general grumpiness. So maybe I'll do better in the new house. (Ha! Although I have plans for one of those three linen bin sorter deals on wheels with the hanging bar. 'Cause I think that would help, with being able to sort the laundry and hang up the stuff needs hanging immediately, and all that.)
And okay, now I have to go do the laundry, since I've talked about it. And also I have to cook, which I enjoy doing, but makes dirty dishes, which I do not enjoy washing. Actually I don't mind doing the dishes. It's just that immediately after I do the dishes, I have to do them again. And again, and again. Every single day. It's relentless. It would be simpler if I stopped eating.
You know the day is too long when you find yourself laughing unto tears over all the engineers who CANNOT manage to get three people on the speakerphone at once. Kept hanging up on someone.
I feel like my face is frozen into a deer-in-the-headlights expression of late.
I hate computers. Most websites are coming in a close second. I fear I'm coping by mentally translating everything into lolcatz speech, which is just....bad. I'm going to out myself at some meeting.
Also, where does the phrase "came back WRONG" come from. Because it's startling people.
where does the phrase "came back WRONG" come from
Said of Buffy, post-resurrection, as diagnosed with pure handwavium.
where does the phrase "came back WRONG" come from
Said of Buffy, post-resurrection, as diagnosed with pure handwavium.
I thought that diagnosis was made with whywasIabletopunchyou-ium.
I feel like my face is frozen into a deer-in-the-headlights expression of late.
Apparently a coworker got called out for that by our CEO the other day. Dag.
whywasIabletopunchyou-ium.
It works if you think of a punch as waving the hand really hard. And stopping on someone else's face.
Handwavium for the handwavium!
Oh lord.
Anyway, I don't mind putting away clothes. Most hang in the walking closet, anyway. And I basically do a couple loads every two weeks, fold it at the drier to avoid wrinklage, cart it upstairs to the closet and hang.
Getting dressed in the morning is mostly making sure I'm not wearing black on top and bottom because they don't match. Then shoes depending on what the not-black is. If I'm actually making an effort, I think hard enough to decide whether I should wear purple or dark khaki eyeliner. I usually don't think that hard.
Yeah, if I had room to fold it at the dryer, that would help heaps. But my w/d right now is a stacked unit stuffed halfway into the hall closet. I pull the laundry out and throw it on the loveseat, which is perched halfway in the entry in an attempt to make the living room look bigger. Which is a great choice, because then it means that every delivery person who comes to the door is first greeted with a pile of laundry. I look so cool and together.
Did I say I was going to go do laundry? I am. Especially now, 'cause LeechBlock is about to cut me off.
