Somebody construct me some sanity

The house is a construction zone right now. We’re doing some work on our kitchen and somehow that has snowballed (as these things tend to do) into most of the first floor, so everywhere I look is a disaster. It’s going to be great once it’s all done, but right now, my eye twitches on a regular basis because THE MESS. There’s dust and clutter and craziness everywhere. I thrive on order and cleanliness and surfaces free from a two-inch layer of dust, so to say this is trying for me is an understatement.

But there’s one particular thing that is increasing my stress level by 1000 percent — the laundry. The washer and dryer have been disconnected for a week and a half. They’re telling me it will be up and running by Friday afternoon, so I’m trying to hold out until then and not go to a laundromat. But I’m not going to lie. I’m dying.

Every time I go into my bathroom and look at the clothes hamper, my anxiety peaks to levels not previously recorded in humans. The pile of clothes that need to be washed is now up and over the rim of the hamper. I keep shoving the pile down, trying to compact it, so I can fit more clothes on top, but this doesn’t change the fact that IT’S TIME TO DO THE LAUNDRY AND I CANNOT DO IT. Don’t even get me started on the bed sheets and towel situation.

I could go to a laundromat, but how stupid is that when in two days I’ll be able to get all my laundry done? But the stress is wreaking havoc on me and there is such a disturbance in the force that I’m not sure there’ll ever be any going back.

So the lesson is if you ever want to torture me, hand me 15 loads of laundry, shirts and underwear spilling over the top of the hamper, and tell me I’m not allowed to wash it. I’d rat out anyone.