I don't like housework. No one really likes housework, I know, but there are those tasks that we tend to hate more than others, and those we really don't mind quite so much.
One of those tasks that I actually think I enjoy is laundry. I like clean laundry. I especially like clean laundry now that I live in the land of dryers once again. I like to see it go into the washer smelly and muddled and soiled, and come out clean and sweet smelling. I like to fold it into neat piles. I don't like to put it away, but that's another story.
I haven't been writing here much because I've been doing life's laundry. I've been valiantly trying to take what looks messy and soiled and smelly and transform it into something clean and crisp and sweet smelling.
I wonder why I should feel like my life is akin to dirty laundry.
I started my new job on Friday, which is challenging and a bit scary, but I do think I will get it in the end, and probably even excel at it. I regularly worry in my mind about how I will organize my time now that I actually have to commit a good portion of it to someone else, but my salary will pay our future mortgage, and it's time. I met with a mortgage broker on Thursday, which was frustrating due to the fact that our working histories are difficult to prove since we've only been here for 6 months, but also hopeful and optimistic since I have wonderful people in my life who are willing to cosign a loan. My husband and I found a house on an acre of land backing up to the national forest. A house with an office and studio for me, a peaked roof and wood burning stove. A house with three whole bedrooms and a view that stretches out over a valley into the Rockies. A house we just may be able to afford. A house all our own in America. A dream I've had for what feels like forever.
These trials and tribulations are rolled up into my mind like a stinky pile of dirty laundry. I want to wash it and fold it. Neatly. Sweet smelling. I do not want to put this laundry away in drawers and closets just yet, where it might just loose its fresh smell and thrill. Times like these can only be followed by boredom.