Very occasionally I empty the laundry basket – like fully empty it.
And for a brief moment I feel victorious, exhilarated, jubilant, as though I’m walking on air, as though I have put in a penny and won a pound.
Its nice to have that momentary experience, but it doesn’t last. Because soon there will be more things to wash. In fact there probably already are – for nature abhors a vacuum, and empty washing baskets have a kind of vacuum like nature. Somewhere a sock lurks, a jumper skulks, or a crumpled teeshirt sits quietly, waiting to be deposited. But still, the feeling of emptying the basket is a good one, and it’s the memory of small things like that which help to sustain us, particularly when the going gets tough and the washing mounts up.
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