Washing rags.
Here I am at the laundry mat washing rags. Anyone with a washer/dryer at home ought to be incredibly grateful.
What a luxury to throw in a load of laundry and turn it over whenever you get around to it.
What a luxury to smell the freshness of your dryer sheets and not the scent of a folding counter.
What a luxury to not have to watch your loads like a hawk to ensure no one steals your work clothes.
Need one thing clean for tomorrow? You don’t need to make a trip outside your home. Just throw it in the wash, you silly goose.
Spill some water on your pants? Off they go into the dryer for a little de-wrinkling. They’ll be nice and toasty when you slip them back on.
You don’t have to struggle to find a parking spot in midtown, park, perch your breaking Wal-Mart laundry basket on your hip while you jingle your keys trying to lock your car.
You just have to put your cute little load into your cute little washer and press a button and wa-la!
I had to opt for a three-loader machine today because all the smaller ones were taken. $6.50. That could’ve bought me a gallon of gas in California. A whole gallon!
Outrage.
While I clearly enjoy complaining, I try to look at the positive in regards to this inconvenient chore:
It gives me about an hour of stepping away from work.
It offers a bracket of time where I can think or read or write.
It prevents me from getting distracted by all the other 63 things that could catch my attention.
It forces me in a way to make the most of the confinement. I suppose it’s a good exercise.
Sometimes, during the wash cycle, I’ll walk to a nearby coffee shop a handful of blocks away for a cappuccino. I stroll through midtown and glance at store fronts that are just a flash when I’m driving by. It’s always a nice walk—one I probably would’ve have taken had I not needed to wash my socks.
Sometimes, I’ll brain dump from the day on the notes app of my phone while I sit in my car with the windows rolled down. I think I decompress differently when snug in my car alone. That’s always a relief for the brain.
Sometimes, during the dry cycle, I’ll read while leaning against the folding counter. I’ll imagine that I look very mysterious and academic—that people around me are straining for a look at the cover of my book, fascinated to know what I’m engrossed in. That always makes me feel interesting.
Gotta go. My whites are done.