Spinning Cycle

Call me a perfectionist, call me rigid, call me whatever you choose, but don’t touch my holy laundry system.

I remember, with a sniff of incredulity, the time when Sunday was Laundry Day. Once a week, I would neatly sort the laundry from the hamper — darks, whites, colored. I would collect all the towels from around our cozy little apartment. I would strip the linens. And I would advance from cycle to cycle, until every last sock was washed, dried, folded, (ironed?), and neatly returned to its drawer. It was a full-day project, and the only other thing I could accomplish on that sacred day was supper for two.

Ha. Ha ha ha ha ha.

Imagine doing laundry only on Sunday. That would be like inviting Motzaei the Nine Days to the house on a weekly basis.

Welcome to my laundry room, where laundry happens… every day. It has to, or else I would simply drown in the task. Every morning, I throw in a load of darks and a load of whites and forget about both until the moment my brain starts begging for a distraction after a loooong stretch of brain-spinning work. (A really long stretch. Sometimes even as long as fifteen minutes!)