Right now I am sitting next to a pile of laundry so high I can't see over it. Literally. And it keeps growing because I keep washing clothes (victory) and throwing them into this room, which, incidentally, isn't even a bedroom, it's a living room.
SOooooo...
That's happening.
I started to feel overwhelmed, almost panicky, about it because on top of the laundry, there are snow clothes and goggles and coats and snow pants and suitcases all over the place with no time for folding or sorting in sight. The days are mapped out tight this month. So what to do?
I have lots of limitations right now and am *doing* lots of things (sometimes I forget that the limitations are partially there because of all the good movement, they aren't just a shortcoming). And to be fair, laundry isn't on my list (though milk should be because we are out of it -- again). So I've decided to go with it. Instead of freaking out or feeling like a failure or like I'm strapped to a fast-moving train with no time to jump off (because straps), I am choosing to write and am currently sitting ON the laundry and beside, befriending it.
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