Twenty Minutes

The timer’s set. Unless the twins wake up from their nap first. I am unofficially following a course outline entitled Writing 101. I didn’t sign up for it–I have difficulty with both commitment and procrastination, and I’m also a bit of a perfectionist, which makes things more than a little difficult for me. At any rate, it seems as though the day’s lesson is posted here, if anyone else is interested in following along:

The assignment is to write for twenty minutes and then post it, regardless of content or quality. This is what scares me the most. Who wants to read about my stream of consciousness? I suppose it’s supposed to be empowering, but it just makes me feel uncomfortable.

I keep checking my timer. It’s only been five minutes.

Five minutes:

Other things I could be doing in five minutes:

  • Folding laundry
  • Starting a new load of laundry
  • Putting away laundry
Your WASHING MACHINE...Helps Keep Clothes Clea...

Your WASHING MACHINE…Helps Keep Clothes Clean…Make Your Equipment Last. – NARA – 514669 (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The road always leads back to laundry. For the most part, I like laundry. It’s a task where I can see visible results. And it’s fairly straightforward: sort clothes, place dirty clothes in the machine, add soap, turn on machine. All done but for the drying. Which is also a straightforward and simple sort of thing. The washing and the drying are not what gets me. It’s not even the folding. I enjoy folding–creating order out of chaos. Especially when every sock has its mate. That’s the ultimate laundry high. What gets me is the putting away.

I live in a family of five–a first grader, two-year old twins, my partner and myself. Needless to say, there’s usually a lot of laundry. Sometimes it’s hard to put it away. For instance, after the kids have gone to bed, I will often sit and fold laundry while catching up on Robin Wright Penn’s evil doing on House of Cards. However, then I don’t want to go into their rooms to put away the laundry for fear of waking them, so it sits neatly in the basket for me to put away the next morning. Unfortunately, what usually happens the next morning is that Harris and Archer dump out the bins onto the living room floor and begin to play robots with the laundry baskets on their heads, while Tamsin starts fishing out clothes to try on. All of this happens when I’m trying to get them to eat breakfast. So usually by the end of things, it’s a mystery as to which clothes are clean and which ones are discarded pyjamas and all of them are covered in milk and Cheerios. And the cycle begins again. Wash. Dry. Fold. Repeat.

I must think a lot about laundry because I seem to write about it a lot. I’ve even written poems about it.

I also think about time a lot. For instance right now I am closing in on my twenty minute mark, so I need to wind things up. End this stream-of-consciousness free write. And go and get back to my laundry.