Oh Laundry, Like Blogging, Thou Art So Easy to Forsake

In case you haven't noticed (which would be of absolutely no surprise considering the infrequency of my posting as of late; something which, among the thousands of other organizationally challenged aspects of my life, I am aiming to rectify), I have been trying to get my proverbial act together these days. I've been trying to sleep more, eat better, work more hours, pay off astounding debt, and live on an impossible $10/day in Manhattan. Yes, I have completely lost my senses, thank you for asking. Oh, and I'm also becoming the first Jewish nun, at least temporarily, and eschewing the romantic roller coaster for the self-improvement Himmalayas.

Setting goals can be incredibly gratifying (though, admittedly not as great as sex despite all my efforts to pretend the contrary) when they are achieved, inspiring endless amounts of renewed confidence and self congratulatory momentary highs. And I have had my share of these recently, such as the miniscule and thoroughly uninteresting to anyone but myself personal victory of arriving on time at 8:00am to work my new extra job for Lady Charron as personal assistant and administrative help for the World Yoga Center. That's right, 8:00am! Me!

However, it is anything but gratifying when embarking on a personal journey of self-improvement such as this, when the simplest of tasks suddenly becomes a monumental obstacle that seems impossible to overcome. Yes, I am talking about my lifelong battle with laundry.

Laundry?? you ask incredulously. Yes, my friends, laundry. Even more challenging than the impossible $10/day budget is laundry.

I have a history with this particular battle, and it is neither pretty nor pleasing to the olfactory senses. I have improved, mind you, since the days of yore (commonly referred to as the college years) wherein I actually had a friend spend his one night in three months off of rehearsal helping me with and forcing me to do the endless piles that had accumulated over an embarassingly long time because he noticed in Theatre History class that my clothes were stinking. (There are certain things one shouldn't necessarily reveal on the internet, and that is probably one of them)

These days I do not stink, and I never double dip into the used pile, but I still loathe the seemingly unsurmountable task of laundry and end up carrying a way too heavy suitcase or two down the five flights of stairs and around the block to the always overpopulated laundromat with the scary little Asian woman who yells at me and mercilessly criticizes my folding technique. If I were to do it more often, not only would it take less time, but it would be far kinder on my back amidst the endless stairs. So I decided that I was going to try to do it once a week, despite my overwhelming aversion. This task must generally be done on the weekends, due to the strict all loads in by 9:00pm rule strictly enforced by the laundry nazis.

Did I do any laundry this weekend? Did I accomplish this one simple task? Absolutely not. Granted, our apartment has become an infectious diseases ward with The Lone Star Talent and I continually passing one strain of flu or another back and forth, thus Friday night through Sunday morning were spent in the sick bed (my 1/2 futon, as climbing into the loft bed is a bit of a scary prospect when my body calls an embargo on strength). However, I am feeling better today, and had the whole afternoon in which to get the damn thing done before meeting my old friend and perpetual flirt for dinner and drinks at 7:30pm. Instead, I finished crocheting a scarf, tried on any and all bathing suits (a depressing prospect) for my upcoming trip to Hawaii with my parents, and generally spent the day being silly and lazy with The Lone Star Talent; in other words fucking around and playing the game of laundry avoidance I seem to have perfected.

At least I did the dishes, and managed to shit out this thoroughly untinteresting and surprisingly long for the mundane subject matter blog entry. The day hasn't been a total waste, just a 7/8 waste. Lovely progress, no?

Now I need to go put on some clothes or something...despite my laziness, I'm being treated to dinner and I ain't gonna miss that one due to an overdeveloped propensity for fucking around.