dirty laundry

this week is dedicated to the loss of my dinosaur computer, rest in peace dear friend and the fact i got into grad school- again! it is strange how you get where you are going. to date in my undergrad and grad school apps, my only two rejections have been harvard and sf state, pause for laughter, more on that later. . .

thanks so much for reading! and without further ado- dirty laundry- a ten minute quick write i did a few weeks back.

Dirty Laundry. Dirty laundry is my arch nemesis. It always has been. My dirty laundry has a tendency of finding it’s way onto my floor, onto my bed, and the to the chair, and back to the bed but not where it belongs. In the hamper. In the washing machine. Cleaned and put away. This has been a problem as long as I can remember. I hate cleaning my room. My father would yell at me about it all the time. I would promptly say dad other girls my age are doing drugs or getting pregnant using my teenage rhetoric. He always responded I don’t care about them, I care about you. Get up there and clean your room.

Laundry is boring to me. I never knew the luxury of having a washing machine in your house, in your apartment, in your home until it was taken away from me. Taken away from me. Since I left my home, my childhood home, twice I have had a washing machine in my house. Two whole times. I would probably give something up to have one now. Maybe my first born, no a wise woman in her 30's would never but maybe one of my "educated" eggs on ebay. Better.

So the dirty laundry. It gets bad when I am busy. It gets bad when things are going too good. That I am not home. It gets bad when things aren’t going well. It is an indication that I need to slow down. That I need to do some cleaning. I hate laundry so much that when I can I send it out to be washed. The trip to the laundry mat takes longer than you always would imagine. The back and forth, the hoping no one steals your underwear, or cool jeans. Sometimes you drop your wallet in the washing machine and think it is stolen. Sometimes strange people talk to you. So lately I send it out as not to deal with it. I cope through buying tons of underwear so that I don’t have do laundry except once a month. I look at my room most of the time and wonder how I can still have clothes hanging, hanging in my closet.

Dirty laundry. Dirty laundry it haunts me even when it is washed. It haunts me when I put it away. It haunts me now. It’s the things we say, we don’t say, we aren’t saying, we should say. Haunting me right now. I try to hide and forget the things too big to admit. But they reappear they always do. The dirty laundry of the past and present are mine. Mine. Mine. I want to share with you. I want to share the burden. I can’t carry all these on my own. The best news about the dirty laundry is I know how to hide in my closet. I know how to make it clean temporarily. I know how to look at and say you drive me crazy. Why can’t I just put the laundry, the dirty laundry, where it belongs? I don’t know. Belonging. Belongs. Finding out where it all belongs. Belongs. Or if it is mine in the first the place.