As I get older, I’m having a harder time accepting repetition as a big part of my life. I don’t mean cosmically or philosophically. I mean plain, old, boring repetitive everyday tasks like laundry, dishes, bed-making. Cleaning the bathroom. I always feel as if ‘I just did that’ … yet it’s time to do it again!
How many dirty dishes and how much dirty laundry can two people generate? Apparently, quite a lot.
I never liked routine chores, but I long ago surrendered to their inevitability. Now they seem like a personal affront. What do you mean I have to unload the dishwasher AGAIN??!! I JUST did that!!
I used to find sorting and folding clothes soothing and zen. Not anymore. Instead of sighing and resigning myself to another round of laundry, I rebel, procrastinate. Seriously procrastinate. I recently had to do three loads in the washer and dryer merely to see the TOP of my hamper!
Maybe the political upheaval in the country will help me appreciate anew the reliable, familiar tasks that make up my days. If not, what is going to happen as I get older? Am I going to be one of those people discovered in a pile of filth and garbage in a house that needs to be condemned?
I’m not there yet. But I worry.