For most anyone that has access to a washer/dryer, laundry shouldn't be that big of a deal. I mean, it's pretty straight forward, no? When you have a reasonable amount of dirty clothes you separate your loads, add detergent and press start. After some time (30 minutes on my machine), you transfer clothes to the dryer, add a bounce sheet and come back to warm, fresh clothes. A little folding and presto-change-0, your whole wardrobe is once again ready to be worn. I love clothes, options and clean things. It should then follow that I like doing laundry, as it gets me all three of those outcomes. NOT SO. To me, laundry is an evil that I must endure to avoid the STANK associated with frequently worn apparel. Seriously, I wait until I'm on my last pair of underwear. Full disclosure: Sometimes I hand wash a pair several times to buy myself a few extra days. Today was an all-time low because I went commando. I used to love the ease and breeze of a panty-less existence, but as I've matured, I truly enjoy wearing undergarment on my lower half. Especially briefs (it feels like a hug for my butt!).
Anyfoof, the reason I raise this issue is because tonight I could deny the fates no longer--I had to do my laundry. Up until a few minutes ago I was happy to follow the usual routine of feeling despondent/cranky. However, I started to analyze why laundry is such a torturous task for me and came to a frustrating conclusion: I am totally the issue here. I have done everything I possibly can to make this chore miserable for myself. See below:
1) I didn't put clothes in the washer until after 10:00pm. The ramification of this initial timing is that I can't even get my clothes out of the drier until 11:40pm, and then I have to fold/hang my nice garments. All in all I probably won't be done until 12:10, which is TOO LATE for Grandma.
2) I have yet to purchase a laundry basket, so getting the clothes back to my apartment is an annoyance. I quickly cram the HOT-ASS laundry into my hamper, awkwardly race to my room and then dump everything out on my bed to prevent wrinkling. Does this method work, you ask? Um...not really.
3) I don't have quarters for a snack. A touch of chocolate would be heaven, but alas, it's a no go when I walk past the vending machine.
4) I'm wearing heinous wash day clothes, so when I see people in the laundry room they look marginally horrified by my ensemble. Today is a classic: oversized gray sweats, oversized yellow sweatshirt, gaudy earrings, no bra.
5) I lost my own laundry card and had to dig through my roommates desk to borrow hers. Please don't tell her that whilst in the process of acquiring said card, I almost broke her lamp, a vase, and her desk drawer. Eeeep.
I could easily continue this list, but I feel like the major points have been addressed. Obviously, it is no wonder I hate laundry day. I wish this revelation made way for an attitudinal shift, but I've still got a major case of the mopes. And so I will continue to lay in bed, curse my choices and watch Nivea's "Landromat" video. RAWR.
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