Just about done with God knows how many loads of laundry. Got one more to wash and dry, and there’s one load in the washer right now. At this point, I usually get just about done and the boy or the husband will drop a garment or two on the floor and I’ll just go ballistic. I, of course, contribute with my own pile between the bed and my bathroom.
It’s just a never ending cycle.
I guess I shouldn’t complain. There are plenty of folks out there who don’t have enough to wear at all whereas I’ve got so many that they can pile up in baskets, waiting for me to put them in their proper place.
It just seems endless.
I watched the last 30-45 minutes of Groundhog Day this afternoon. I sometimes feel like that’s me—stuck in a single day, always griping about the same things, always doing the exact same things and never really accomplishing anything. I feel like I spin my wheels a lot.
Don’t think there’s a solution to it all. I know that no one wants to hear me whine about my problems. I know that there are people with real problems.
Sometimes, I just want to get the words out. I know it doesn’t matter to the world. Sometimes, it just matters to me.
Maybe being able to talk about them, while not actually solving anything, can just serve to make me feel better. And maybe if I feel better, I can stop being such a bitch to my husband and kids and everyone can go on being happy.
Maybe.
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