At one point tonight, I sent this text message:
I am eating cookies in bed surrounded by moderately dry laundry
Now, I’m sitting on the bed, surrounded by mostly dry laundry, big pieces of clothing folded, socks and some undies still drying out.
When I left the laundromat after making a scene I said thank you because I wasn’t sure how to say I’m sorry or if I should even be apologizing, so I went with thank you. Though I wanted to scream, I never did. I just ate it instead.
My load of laundry spun and spun for an hour and a half, maybe longer, all while I was trapped inside a zoom meeting, all while a repairman drilled into the ceiling just above me, in the process of installing a 6 foot long fluorescent lighting tube. I kept on watching the clothes spin, suspended in watery time, while toggling between the chat and trying to unmute myself in between the sounds of metal against metal. I drank my coffee quick — no plastic lid to shield it from the stuff falling from the ceiling. Unmute, share thoughts, mute yourself.
There’s something wrong with this. It’s stuck. And then she stationed herself in front of it, watching the needle remain in the extraction zone for 5 additional minutes before I asked again, my voice tighter this time,
Can we just stop it, please?
I acted like a baby, pulling the sopping wet laundry from the dryer, heavy and sodden, dripping all over the linoleum. Over there, she told me, I could put it in to wash again in another machine. I lifted a fistful of shirt to show her how wet it was and squeezed , water running down into my winter coat sleeve. It’s probably going to mess up your dryers, I half-shouted.
This is a stupid story about
—me acting like a baby because my plan didn’t work out
—because I try to do too many things at one time
—things falling apart, not working, life is suffering and wet wet laundry
I split the load into two dryers. I heaved it into the machines with grunts and loud sighs. This was not how I planned it. There’s something wrong with this. It’s stuck. I came upstairs to wait for things to dry. I didn’t take my shoes off, I kept my coat on. My hands folded over my chest, feet hanging just off the bed. What’s wrong with me, I considered the question in silence, measured it against my own heartbeat.
Tomorrow I can be better at things.
Tomorrow I can try to remember to do one thing at a time.
Tomorrow I can make some calls, draft an action plan,
buy a book, read my notes, fold the socks.
*taken in a 3rd grade classroom this morning, from another part of the day.