My bain

I love having a clean house. I really do. If my house is a mess it makes me anxious. I can't relax. I have to clean. It's a little neurotic, I know, but that's how I am. Don't get me wrong, my house is not always clean. Sometimes it's a wreck, but then I have anxiety. I have to clean. I actually enjoy cleaning. It's therapeutic, in a way for me. BUT there is one chore in my house that I hate. Hate is a very strong word. I really don't like to use it, but this chore is worthy of it. It's laundry. I don't like sorting, loading, folding or putting it away. I don't understand it when people say, "I finished my laundry." No you didn't, because the clothes you have on are dirty and you will have to wash them. Laundry is NEVER finished. It's always there whispering in my ear. I have this cycle I go through every week. I avoid doing laundry-because I loath it so much-for 3 or 4 days. Then I walk into my laundry room and panic because the laundry is piled so high. I only have 4 people living in my household, but man, we can pile up the laundry quick. Then, I start a load, wash it and put it into the dryer. I feel like I'm accomplishing something. Gonna get the laundry done. Then, because I hate laundry, I let the load sit in the dryer for a day or two. The laundry continues to pile high. It's so high now you almost need a map to get from the door to the washer and dryer. Then, I really panic. Gotta get the laundry done. I say to my husband, "I really need to work on the laundry." Hoping secretly that he'll be the loving husband that he is and do a load or two. The laundry continues to pile up. I then come to grips with the fact that my children are now wearing swimsuit bottoms for underwear, and I cave in and spend an entire day or two doing laundry. It's torture, but it's there, nonetheless. Tonight is the night that I've come to grips. I'm off to do laundry. If you don't see me for a while, come look in my laundry room. I might have gotten lost in the maze of clothes.