Dirty Clothes Blues

giant dipper, originally uploaded by camille94019.

I was trying to get myself to fold laundry today, but all I could do was sputter impotently at the endless piles that cluttered the floor. I wanted to see the bottom of it, but it was daunting, like the faerie tale pile of straw in Rumpelstiltskin (fortunately, no evil dwarves, but there ought to have been).

I didn't want to burst a blood-vessel over clean clothes (I'd rather save those kinds of melt downs for things that are really serious, like road rage) so I biked down to the abandoned boardwalk (always empty in the fog) to clear my mind of linens, dwarves, and the miasma of my own skull. On the way, unemployed males of various makes, whistled and catcalled me from their perches on the levees, bridge underpasses and stairs. At first I was annoyed, but then I realized its a harmless reminder that, yes, indeed, there is such a thing as gender, and, by gum, it deserves to be whistled about.

I arrived at the house slightly less cranky than I had left. The piles remain, but the rage is gone.