dirty laundry

I thought I was a generally civilized person until, I went to Granda Lavandaria. It was a Saturday morning after being sick for a week, so it felt like my first time out in the world in a while. My laundry was about two weeks overdue. Plus, after being sick I needed to wash my sheets, and my duvet cover, and just for good measure I threw in the house rags, and the nasty rugs from the bathroom floor. I mounded, molded, shoved these heaps of dirty fabrics into a laundry basket and then some. I carried the pouch of quarter in my front left pocket, my purse over my shoulder filled with books and my journal, and somehow manage to add to this pile of my burdens the stupidly large plastic container of liquid laundery soap. I struggled to the Laundromat with all of these things, looking burdened and unshowered. The kind lady who wears the apron and sweeps the floors and checks the machines, saw me and pushed one of basket on wheels in my direction. I smiled greatlfully and then noticed the rows and rows of people doing the loads and loads of laundry. Families with children and dogs and snacks and bootleg dvds and tamales for sale. Where was the peaceful laundery doing journal writing time of my Saturday morning. The kind lady asked if I was looking for the dollar machines. Si, si, I nodded. She found me one that was empty. I put in my first load, despeartly trying to control the flying socks and t-shirt limps and I pulled the items from the overstuffed laundry basket. Poured in the stupid and slow soap and then went to scavenge for another machine. The next row over looked empty! I went to inspect. Every single machine, about 8 in a row, was taken by these two young women. Estan usando todos! I asked in disbelief. Si they replied separating their loads. I was enraged. I rolled my oversized laundry basket through the maze of men and women folding their clothes watching the 3 TVs showing the Chivas girls in their too small t-shirts, underwear and oversized belts talk about how they learned all their complex dance moves. My hair was a mess. My laundry basket too full. My eyes darted from here to there looking for a machine! Its not fair, I don’t have small children to send and guard the open washers or dryers. I don’t Spanish well enough to haggle my way in or defend my need for the machines. I felt at a disadvantage. All my plans for having a nice little quiet time while doing my loads of laundry were foiled!

I felt like I had gone back to the caveman days and I was scouting territory and there was none. I nothing to do but wait for my one machine to finish and fume about the what a Godless place this was and how selfish and who did they think they were taking up half the machines and what the heck this is a laundrymat why don’t they have more freaking washers! I tried to put my laundry in more manageable piles.

I was livid, annoyed, hating the world and completely aware that I was overreacting. It was horrible. I returned home, with a load a dirty, a load of clean and slightly damp and even a load of clean and dry and slightly folded.

The next day morning I woke up at 7:30 with one plan and one plan only. Get rid of clothes you don’t need, wear, like, or have to many of. If it doenst fit in the drawer with ease, its gone! I got ride of sweaters, pants that didn’t fit, shirts that were ugly, my sparkly prom shoes, and much more. Now I have a pile of clothes to get ride. I folded the clothes in my drawers and organized my closet (this is a small miracle).

I feel accomplished, but no more civilized. There is survival-of-this-fittest-caveman living deep inside of me. But I breathe and pray and go to church to learn about Grace and I get through my day.