So I decided that for the new year I wanted to be a person who does laundry.
I loathe laundry.
But I'm really tired of not having clean clothes to wear. And alas, since I am not famous, people do not just give me new clothes. And as I am not wealthy I can not afford to simply buy new clothes when my old ones are dirty. I'm afraid that if I want to wear clean clothes the only recourse available to me is to actually wash my clothes when they are dirty. Being a grown up is so over-rated.
I've been thinking that if I did laundry more than once a month (not counting the occasional load of desperation underwear) it might not be a such a horrible horrible job.
As it was my only real resolution for the new year, become a person who does laundry, I felt like this was an achievable goal.
Cause I like to keeps it real, I'm not gonna lie. I haven't done a significant amount of laundry since early November.
I had a pile of laundry the size of a mid-size sedan. It didn't help that last week boy dog decided he really really really loves Pork Chop. He manifested his love for her by sneaking upstairs (where he knows he is not allowed to go) and peeing on her bed in a gesture of undying affection, and creepy ownership. I hope her future suitors manifest their undying affection in more socially acceptable ways. In addition to clothes I had a lot of dirty sheets and blankets.
Lacking a substantial laundry room, the dirty laundry was piled in the upstairs hallway.
In front of my bedroom door.
Laundry the size of a Honda Civic.
I'm sure I devised that plan in a past (failed) attempt at becoming a person who does laundry. I must have thought that if the laundry was highly visible and in my way I would do something about it.
Turns out I am just lazy enough that I will walk right over the dirty jeans and go to bed with a clear conscience.
But not this year!
This year I sat and sorted ever single piece of laundry into the appropriate pile. I sprayed every stained t-shirt, every soiled sock. Darks, lights, towels, hand knits, they were all placed in organized piles for future trips to the washing machine.
I lugged the first load of laundry (whites, the most dreaded of all loads, why do I insist on buying everyone white socks, all that matching, oh the humanity) down the stairs to the washing machine.
In goes the bleach, the blueing, the homemade laundry detergent, and finally the whites!
I was well on my way to becoming a Person Who Does Laundry!
And then I heard it.
A whining, squealing sound.
A sound my washing machine has never made before.
This can not bode well for my plans to become a person who does laundry.
I washed nine loads of laundry that day. And while my washing machine continues to loudly protest the work load, it has not quit. Here's hoping I can eek another year out of that machine. Especially since The Greatest lost a crown from his tooth that needs replaced as soon as monetarily possible and as of this morning the car is shuddering and refusing to accelerate.
Looks like 2013 is going to be more of the same.