I hate doing laundry. I shouldn't say hate, that is much to strong of a word, it implies that I have strong feelings about something; I do not care for laundry. I'm, if anything, indifferent to its existence. It piles up and smells but I don't care one way or another about it. Today I'm busting through the mounds and mounds that create the island of laundry I must do every week.
There is a strange phenomenon that surrounds my laundry. It seems that some days I will start the task and wash a load and put it into the dryer and add another load into the wash. Then for some reason it takes hours to get the one load dry and when it finally does I can move the washed load into the dryer and that is usually as far as it goes. I may or may not start another load in the washer, but it will not get completed for a day or (let's face the truth here) two. I do not know why this happens. But then on other days, such as today, it runs like a fine oiled machine and I bust through several loads; washing, drying, repeat and it all gets done. It's the weirdest thing.