On occasion I find the smallest task suddenly becomes overwhelming. Sometimes it is with cause and other times it is without it. This last week, for me, it was the laundry. “Really, Susan? The laundry? I have real problems,” you might say. And to that I’ll just say, that we all have “real” problems and as I repress the hell out of mine, they manage to manifest in other ways, like through the damn laundry. Anyway, my point to this post is that sometimes when life seems to be piling up and stress is building and even the laundry is conspiring against you (multiplying through osmosis or something while you sleep), it’s good to just take a step back, look at the situation, and write some bad poetry. No, really. Well, it works for me anyway.
My husband had been traveling for a week and just returned home early Wednesday morning, so housework had gotten away from me while I was manning the fort solo. Then I had some extras sheets from my Mom who came down to help me from killing the kids me entertain the kids, a suitcase from my husband, two of the kids were sick and I had to wash all the bedding plus their curtains (humidifier made them funky), plus my holiday throws, pillows, towels, etc. etc. So basically my laundry room looked like a disaster area with piles and piles (even the piles had piles) of laundry. I was so worried about being overcome by the laundry, which must have a mind of its own since it was obviously reproducing, that I tied a rope around my waist and another around the couch in the adjacent room before I went in; and at least I could attempt to pull myself free. So as I spent my weekend feeling repressed and overcome with anxiety about the laundry, I began to make little rhymes in my head and jotted a few down on paper. You’ll be able to find these, I’m certain, attached to the commitment papers when my husband takes me to the nut house:
Laundry-Smaundry
You are no fun
You are never done
Rinse and spin
I’ll never win
Dark and light
a housewife’s plight
You agitate
Oh! how I hate
the laundry.
Ode to Laundry
Such futility deadens the soul
Cycle that never seems to end
Thankless task takes its toll
Constant onslaught, unable to mend
Segregated and solitary piles stand
Some are dark, some are light
All are soiled and must be made clean
The job is mine, no one lends a hand
With no resolution, it’s not worth a fight
Sounds like a nightmare, or the housewife’s dream
Laundry Haiku
The endless cycles
You define futility
Wash, Dry, Fold again
So as I battle my S.A.D. (Seasonal Affective Disorder) and fight to keep the holiday spirit among all the stress it can bring, I am promising to put myself in an occasional time-out. It’s amazing how a glass of wine and a couple of silly poems can help lift my spirit…now, I’m off to switch the laundry…again.
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