I sit surrounded by baskets of laundry.
Monotonously I fold, knowing that tomorrow will bring more of the same.
Hours wasted on insanity.
I remember when I could have it done for a couple of bucks. A day later I’d pick up the bag of clothes, neatly pressed, folded and smelling of lavender.
I know how bourgeoisie that sounds.
But, it’s just me appreciating my time spent on other things that bring me joy.
Is that so bad?