Saturday, January 02, 2010

Laundrypalooza ...

Turns out, I can write even without the presence of a Christmas tree.

I'm sitting in the same spot, but the room is decidedly brighter, both because I am sitting here much later in the day than when I usually write as well as because the tree no longer blocks much of the light through the large window.

That the trees outside are bare and the ground is covered with snow and that the sun is shining probably have something to do with the brightness as well.

I had so much ambition yesterday. The first day of the new year. The perfect time to take down decorations and give the house a lick and a promise and organize everything to the point of OCD.

And I started. I took all of the ornaments off of the Christmas tree in the living room, methodically, all of one kind then all of another and made stacks and piles on the kitchen counter to facilitate easier storage later.

But then I realized that I was hungry. So I heated up a plateful of Chinese food and plopped myself in front of the teevee machine and began to scroll through the on-screen menu. And do you know what was on?

"Vertigo," that's what.

As if I wasn't going to watch "Vertigo"?

So I did. And by the time it was over, it was dark outside and there's just something odd about doing chores of the de-decorating sort after the sun has gone down. So I kept watching TV.

This morning, though, having had my fill of television yesterday, I was all about getting things done. Both trees were dismantled and put away by 9:30 a.m. Dishes were done. Recycling was gathered.

Which left laundry.

You know that scene in "Close Encounters of the Third Kind" in which Richard Dreyfuss makes the model of the mountain in his living room?

That was my pile of laundry.

Some of it was already at the base of the basement stairs. The remainder was mounded in a laundry basket in my bedroom.

I sorted all of it into piles and made a discovery.

I have an entire load of "greys."

Most people have "whites" and "lights" and "darks" and "colors." I do, too. But I also have enough clothes that are grey to make up a load unto themselves.

How's that for a metaphor for my life?

Thank God for the enormous yellow sweatshirt.

Now, granted, I like neutrals. The rooms in my home vary in color, but "muted" is the order of the day. I don't do brights. Primary colors belong to boxes of crayons and stoplights.

But I never paid attention to the fact that I owned so much grey clothing. Sheesh. My life is a Xanax.

[I just looked up images of Xanax. Do my eyes deceive me or are these pills grey?! How funny. I swear I didn't know that about them.]

So now the laundry is being laundered, load after load, and I am clacking away, and once I hit "Publish Post," I will – gasp! – read a book! Standing up, very possibly.

I think I exceeded my couch quota yesterday. I don't much feel like sitting today.

I would go for a walk, but it's 14 degrees outside. Fahrenheit. And I prefer the skin on my face to remain room temperature whenever possible.

Perhaps I will fire up the treadmill. Now that I have all five seasons of "House" on DVD, I have told myself that I will treat myself to one a day and watch from the treadmill. On which I will be walking, it should be noted. I will not sit on the treadmill and watch TV. Well, I would. If that would allow me to achieve an increased level of fitness.

Alas, it will not, I'm guessing.

Here's hoping your new year will be full of love and clear of clutter.

May your days be happy and your laundry be clean.

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